


We Are Only Just Beginning

by afirethatcannotdie



Series: The College AU [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Boston, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 129,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afirethatcannotdie/pseuds/afirethatcannotdie
Summary: In the dim light of a dorm kitchen, Harry Styles meets a boy who flips his life upside down. Three years later, he's a senior in college, ready to take on the world with the love of his life by his side. And then Louis Tomlinson admits he doesn't know what he wants to do after college after all, and Harry's world flips again, this time not so pleasantly. He can't imagine his life without Louis, but he's starting to worry he might have to.A college AU featuring lots of domestic sappiness, waffles, tattoos, late nights and early mornings, and above all, Louis and Harry against the world.





	1. Prologue: Freshman Fall

**Author's Note:**

> here we are! i started writing this in july and it has been, without a doubt, the piece of work i am most proud of creating in my entire 24 years of life. it's been a struggle and a joy and i've poured many, many hours into this, and i am unbelievably excited to be publishing it today.
> 
> [rachel](http://www.alivingfire.tumblr.com): i wish i could thank you enough for all you did for this fic. you took my offhand comment about needing a beta and completely transformed this fic, pouring hours of your time into it to make it better. you are lovely, and i am more appreciative than you'll ever know.
> 
> [sara](http://www.thekingisawoman.tumblr.com): thanks for talking about this with me for hours and hours, for all the scenarios you gave me, and for pushing me when i didn't want to write. thanks for being the godmother to these college babies we love so much. you're a rockstar.
> 
> to anyone else i ever talked to about this: thank you for your ideas and your encouragement. i love you all.

_“Hey, not to be rude or anything, but can you keep it the fuck down?”_

This is how it starts, fifteen words spoken in a dorm kitchen with shitty lighting on a Tuesday night. Or, really, a Wednesday morning, if you want to get technical about it.

But no matter the day, that’s how it begins, and nothing is the same after that.

###  **Senior Fall**

 

“To senior year! May we drink, may we reign, and may we have a hell of a good time doing it!”

There’s a loud cheer in agreement, and there’s a clanking of shot glasses hitting each other, and then the only sound in the room is the loud music as they all pour the vodka down their throats.

Harry shivers as he swallows, looks around for something to soothe the burn in his throat. He finds it in his boyfriend’s hand, a bottle of ginger ale that he plucks from his grip and swallows without hesitation.

“Babe, no--” Louis says, but it’s too late, the damage has been done.

“What the fuck is this?” Harry asks as he sputters around the plastic rim of the bottle. He’s not sure he can see straight. “Is this straight vodka?”

“That’s exactly what that is,” Louis says sympathetically. He at least has the decency to rub Harry’s back while he coughs through it, trying to make the pain go away.

“God, I’m never drinking again,” Harry moans.

“Harry, it’s literally the first night of senior year,” Niall says as he comes over to them. “It’s way too soon for you to be swearing off booze. Wait until you’re old and graduated for that.”

“Leave him alone, Nialler,” Louis says as he curls his arms around Harry’s waist protectively, intertwining his fingers against Harry’s hip. “Not all of us can drink a twelve pack and be fine the next day. Actually, come to think of it, that’s not normal. Might want to go get that checked out at UHS.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s temple, and Harry closes his eyes and nuzzles his nose against the top of Louis’ head.

It’s a testament to how used to the two of them that Niall doesn’t bat an eye, just scoffs and says, “UHS? Honestly, they’re a load of garbage. Went there one time last year ‘cause someone told me they give out free condoms. They told me they ran out but I could come back another day, but what if I desperately needed them right then? What kind of health service is that? Honestly, they’re shit.”

“You know you can just buy those at the pharmacy, yeah? There’s a CVS literally on your block.”

“Oh, Harry,” Niall says, shaking his head like Harry’s a bloody child. Harry waits for the rest of the sentence, but it never comes. He gives up when Niall drains the last of his beer and walks away, and he turns in Louis’ arms so that he’s facing him.

“Hi, love,” Louis says, like they haven’t just spent the past five minutes entwined, and he’s staring at Harry, their faces just inches apart. It’s the kind of staring that makes Harry feel all giddy inside, the kind that causes his cheeks to turn pink. He’s kind of given up on ever getting used to it, which is fine with him. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’ve definitely felt better,” Harry admits as he watches Niall chat to a pretty brunette over by the makeshift bar. “Kind of wish I could go to bed right now, to be honest. But Niall’s right, it’s the first night of senior year and we all agreed we’d host the party.”

Louis just makes a little sound of acknowledgement and then runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry would love to just curl up in bed with him right now, fall asleep in his arms, but this is their apartment and they can’t. Responsibilities, and all that.

He kind of feels a bit like he could throw up if the opportunity arose. He’d been roped into a drinking game with Niall, and then flip cup with a few of the girls, and then two rounds of shots. And then his fuck up with the ginger ale bottle. He’s definitely regretting those shots now.

“I’m just gonna go outside and have a smoke with Zayn, okay?” Louis tilts his head toward the balcony, and Harry pouts. “I know, I know. I said I’d stop. But I think just one when I’m drinking is still a big improvement, yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry allows, his speech a little slurred, and he leans in to capture Louis’ mouth with his own for a quick peck. He might be a little (okay, a lot) drunk, but he doesn’t forget to admire Louis’ ass when he walks away.

He heads over to talk to Liam and Sophia then, and he’s a bit unsteady when he walks. He should probably go get some water first.

*

Harry’s in the middle of a conversation with Jade, a girl from his major he’s been having weekly lunches with for two years now, when he feels someone slip their hands into his back pockets and squeeze his ass. Jade laughs.

“That better be you, Louis,” he mumbles as he feels blindly behind him as much as he can. His fists grip fabric that’s very like the shirt Louis is wearing, so he figures he’s safe.

“Hi love,” Louis says into his ear, and he’s giggling.

“Harry, I’m gonna go get a refill. I’ll see you in class Monday?” Jade asks, and Harry has the decency to refrain from pointing out that her drink is entirely full. He nods. “Thanks for the party, it was nice seeing you guys!”

He turns in Louis’ arms as Louis presses kisses to his jaw. “You scared Jade away,” Harry whines as he fits his arms around Louis’ waist, hands clasped at the small of his back. “I haven’t seen her in months. We were having a really good conversation about the new Leonardo DiCaprio movie and you interrupted it.” He’s not actually that upset about the conversation, but he does enjoy giving Louis shit whenever he can.

“Babe, I swear sometimes you love him more than me.”

“It’s honestly just because he reminds me of you a little bit,” Harry tells him for the fifty-sixth time.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Anyway, if you leave me for him I’ll just run off with David Beckham, so no harm done, really.”

“Alright,” Harry scoffs. “Good luck with that one. But hey, if you ever get the chance, you should take it. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re horrible, encouraging me to cheat on you--”

“With David Beckham, though, that hardly counts,” Harry interjects.

“I don’t care if it’s with bloody David Beckham,” Louis grumbles. “I’d never. And to think I came over to ask if you wanted to get waffles, and here we are having an entire conversation about me cheating on you.”

“Waffles?” Harry asks, and suddenly he feels a million times better.

“Yeah, why not? ‘M getting a bit sick of the party and we can’t go to bed yet anyway.”

 Louis is truly the best boyfriend ever.

“The only _why_ I’m asking is _why_ aren’t we already out the door,” Harry grins. “Let me go get my wallet.”

*

They sit at their favorite table, the one by the window, and their server Helen gives them anything they want.

“Oh, you know you boys have always been my favorite, right?” she asks as she brings Harry a refill of his fresh squeezed orange juice. It’s his favorite, the best in the whole city, he swears it. “But you don’t have to flatter us, we already like you.”

Harry puts his hand to his chest and flutters his lashes, if only because he knows it’ll make Louis laugh. “But it really is my favorite!”

“Well, we’re honored,” Helen says as she squats down and rests her elbows on the table. “So what’s up with you boys? Glad to be back? How was your summer?”

“It was good!” Louis exclaims. “Harry came to stay with me for a few weeks at home, so that was lovely.” He locks eyes with Harry, and they’re both beaming at the memory of mornings with Louis’ family crowded around the breakfast table, of Harry finally getting to put an image to the scenes in all of Louis’ stories, of exploring London together.

“Oh, in England? That’s great. You used to live there, right Harry?” Helen asks. Harry adores her, and not just because she can get him his favorite orange juice. She somehow remembers almost everything the two of them have ever told her. If he was into women, he’d probably propose on the spot.

“Yeah, I lived there until I was twelve. I guess I don’t really sound like I did anymore though, unless I’m talking to my mum.”

“Or sometimes it comes out around me too,” Louis interjects. “But honestly Helen, you should have heard him around my family, he sounded _so_ bloody English. Plus, they obviously loved him. I think they liked him more than me.”

Harry pouts at the teasing, but it’s true; three weeks back in England had really caused him to sound like he’d never left. Louis had loved it.

“That sounds lovely, boys, glad you got to do that.” She sighs. “I can’t believe the summer’s over and school’s starting again. I feel like it comes on quicker every year.”

“It really does,” Harry agrees. “And how was your summer? Are you still seeing that guy... what was his name? Jared?”

Helen clicks her tongue against her teeth. “No, I broke up with him back in July. He’s a major ass, not worth my time. Now I’m not sure what’s going to happen. But hey, love’s not for everyone.” She stands up and ties her long dark hair into a bun. It’s probably not the most sanitary thing to do, but Louis and Harry don’t come here for the cleanliness.

“Aw, no,” Harry says sympathetically, and Louis frowns as well. “Sorry to hear that. You have plenty of time to find the right person though; whatever you do, you don’t want to settle.”

“Oh Harry, that’s easy for you to say. But not all of us can meet the love of our life at eighteen years old. I’m already twenty-nine, time’s running out.”

Harry can’t help but grin at the mention of the love of his life, and when he looks over Louis has a matching smile. Louis gives him a little kick under the table, and Harry hooks his foot around Louis’ ankle to keep him there.

“He’s right, Helen,” Louis adds, not even breaking eye contact with Harry. “Don’t settle.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind. It’s good to have you back, boys.” Helen walks away after that.

“That’s the second person we’ve scared away tonight, and it’s only”--Harry clicks his phone button to check the time--“1:30 in the morning.”

“Shut up and eat your waffles, babe.”

“Yes, love.

“Hey,” he says through a mouthful of waffles. “Do you remember the first time we came here?”

“Ew, you’re gross, shut your mouth,” Louis orders, pointing his fork in Harry’s direction as he laughs. “But yeah, course I do. Right before winter break of freshman year. Our first real date.”

“Our first real date was to the Christmas tree lighting,” Harry protests, as if they haven’t had this conversation a thousand times before.

“Okay, fine,” Louis relents. He stabs a piece of strawberry from Harry’s plate with his fork. “But this was our first _proper_ date. You know, like dinner and a movie.”

“Not that we hadn’t done that ten times before,” Harry says with a snort. They’ve talked about this a lot but it’s one of his favorite topics of conversation, the beginning of _them_.

“Can’t believe that was almost three years ago,” Louis muses, and this time he’s the one with a mouth full of waffles. Harry decides not to mention it. “I can’t believe we’re _seniors_ ,” Louis continues, his face deadly serious. “It’s fucking terrifying. Like, what happens next year?”

This is another conversation they’ve had a hundred times, but it’s significantly less enjoyable these days. It’s the first of September, as of an hour and a half ago, and they graduate on the fifteenth of May. A lot’s going to happen between now and then, and the thought of leaving this place that’s become their home is scary for them both. For the first time in his life, Harry _doesn’t_ know what comes next, and yeah, that’s pretty fucking terrifying.

He doesn’t want to think about all that right now, so all he says is, “Thanks for kissing me at the Christmas tree lighting.”

Louis smiles. “Thanks for kissing me back.”

Harry feels like no matter what happens this year, the two of them are going to be okay.

###  **Freshman Fall**

Harry slams the book shut and tosses it on his desk, where it slides along the tabletop and comes within inches of knocking his collection of shot glasses to the floor. Whatever, he doesn’t care; let them fall. He won’t be able to do shots anyway if he fails his exam and gets kicked out of school.

“What did the glasses do to offend you this time, Harry?” his roommate asks.

Harry just groans. “Fucking hate microeconomics, Niall. Why did I ever agree to take this class?”

“Think it was something like you wanted to get rid of a Gen Ed requirement. Oh, and you thought the professor was hot.”

“He is, but not even three hours a week of watching Professor Warner be ridiculously attractive is worth these stupid homework assignments. I swear we have new shit every week, and our first exam is next Wednesday.”

“Already? The third week of college seems a bit early for the first exam.”

“Trust me, I know,” Harry says as he falls back onto his bed and throws his arm over his face. “Ugh, I hate this stupid class. I don’t care about econ at all, why do I need to study this?”

“You know, they tried to get me to sign up for that class. I said absolutely no way, perfectly happy with taking French and first year writing and a few classes for my major.” When Harry looks over at Niall, he’s laying on his stomach, reading a book for his Political Science class.

“Well, at least between the two of us, one has brains.”

“Yeah, Harry, you’re just the good looking one.”

Harry throws a pillow at his head. “Whatever. At least we make a good team,” he says as he sits up and leans against the wall.

“Couldn’t do this without you, Harry,” Niall says in a rare moment of quiet sincerity. It’s true for Harry too. They’ve only known each other for two weeks of college and already Harry feels like Niall could be one of his best friends. Niall's hilarious, both protective and funny, and Harry feels a special connection with him because they both moved from their home countries to the US as kids: Niall from Ireland to Boston, and Harry from England to New York. Harry _really_ lucked out in the roommate lottery.

He’s just about to say so when Niall’s next question cuts through his thoughts. “Hey, you want to go get dinner? Saw that they’re having quesadillas tonight at McDonough. Apparently they have them every Thursday.”

Harry pumps his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah.”

*

The dining hall is crowded tonight, which makes sense, considering it’s six pm. That doesn’t make Harry feel better though, not when he’s still trying to figure out his way around this place _and_ he can’t find Niall.

“Hey, you’re Harry, yeah?” There’s a soft touch on his arm and it’s Zayn, the boy from his writing class who lives down the hall. He’s British, ridiculously gorgeous, and Harry thinks he’s probably already hooked up with half their dorm.

Of course, that might just be because Harry is a teeny bit attracted to him. Whatever.

“Yeah, I’m Harry. You’re Zayn, right?”

Zayn nods, and then he sticks out his hand to shake Harry’s before realizing that Harry’s holding a tray full of food. “Well, your mate Niall’s sitting over there with me and my roommate and a couple of our friends. It’s the table under the clock.”

Under the clock, okay. This is new -- he and Niall almost always sit by themselves, and usually in the corner. “Just, like, you looked a bit lost,” Zayn says. “Didn’t want you to spend forever looking for him.”

“Yeah, thanks. See you over there.”

He finds Niall exactly where Zayn told him he would be sitting. He’s surrounded by three girls in bright red Boston University t-shirts, Zayn’s roommate Liam, and a boy with red hair that Harry doesn’t know.

“Uh, hi,” he says as he gives a little wave and then takes the spare seat next to Niall. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, this is my friend Ed, this is Lucy, Perrie, and Erica, friends of Zayn’s. And you know Liam, yeah?” Once again, Harry totally won the roommate lottery with Niall, who’s willing to introduce him to anyone and everyone. Not that Harry usually needs introduction; he’s happy to strike up conversation with perfect strangers. Nice having someone on his side though.

“Hi, nice to see you again,” Liam says, and he’s British too. Harry is beginning to wonder if living on the International Interests floor was a mistake; he’d thought that he’d meet people from exotic places like Australia and South Korea and Japan, but instead it just seems to be stupidly attractive boys from England.

As the conversation picks up again, Harry finds it’s nice to sit with other people at dinner.  He _is_ at college to make new friends, after all. He should take advantage of the opportunity.

*

“Harry, it’s way too early in the semester for you to be staying in on a Saturday night and studying,” Niall says. Harry looks up from his book to see Niall fiddling with a ridiculous toga he’s made from a bed sheet. “Come on, you _have_ to come out with us. It won’t be the same if you’re not there.”

Harry sighs. “I have my first micro exam on Wednesday and I really, _really_ can’t fail it.”

Niall yanks his book out of his hands and tosses it on his bed. “You can study all day tomorrow if you want to, but come on, you’re coming out.”

Harry’s protests die in his throat as Niall drags him out of his desk chair and throws a sheet in his direction.

“Niall, you want me to wear this outside? Like on the T?” Niall nods, grinning. “No fucking way.”

“You’re wearing it, and you better get moving. They’ve already started pre-gaming next door at Zayn’s, and I refuse to let us be the most sober ones at the party.”

Within a few minutes, they’re dressed in matching togas and knocking back shots in Zayn and Liam’s room. Zayn’s currently complaining about the American drinking age, which he’s said is “complete and utter shit.” Having just spent a week in England with his mum and her family being able to drink whenever he wanted, Harry is inclined to agree.

“Why’d you move to America then, Zayn?” The question comes from Leigh Anne, one of Perrie’s roommates who Harry’s just met.

Liam shouts over the noise, “Okay, one more shot and then we’re all leaving!” and Leigh Anne’s question is forgotten as another round of tequila is pressed into their hands.

They file out the door at Liam’s command and make their way to the train. It’s a short ride to their destination, and Niall leads the way to the frat house, the group of them wobbling behind him like a trail of ducklings.

He hears the party before he sees it, the loud booming music audible from three doors down. Niall waves to a guy at the door and they’re waved through, leaving three girls in short black dresses a bit confused as they stand on the stoop and watch them go in.

“You’re not wearing togas,” Harry hears the guy at the door tell the girls, but he loses the conversation after that because he’s in the main room of the house.

The frat party is insane. Harry thought he knew what to expect, but this is actually crazier than anything he’d ever seen on TV. It’s so, so loud, and the room is packed with people, dressed in sheets of all colors. The floor is sticky under his sneakers and he can barely hear his own thoughts over the pounding of the music. He’s also having a hard time with the sheer number of shirtless men, though that’s more of a perk than a distraction. Still, it’s quite overwhelming.

“Not sure this is my scene,” he yells to Niall as he hands over a solo cup full of a very questionable drink, the liquid sloshing over the sides.

“What’d you say? I can’t hear you!” Niall yells back. “This is fucking brilliant!”

Niall really does look like he’s in his element. He’s on his second drink and at least four girls have waved to him in the short time they’ve been standing here. He’s buzzing with excitement and Harry thinks it’s not just the alcohol; it’s everything about the whole party. Niall is made for this kind of life, made for college.

Is Harry made for it? He’s not so sure.

“Come take a shot!” Perrie’s dragging him by the hand, and he turns to bring Niall with him but Niall’s disappeared from his side. Instead, Harry spots him dancing up against a pretty brunette girl they saw in the dining hall last week.

He does two rounds of shots and then it gets fun, once he’s more pleasantly drunk and can dance with Perrie and Leigh Anne. Liam and Zayn join them a few minutes later, and Harry forgets how ridiculous they all look, dressed in these stupid sheets, in favor of laughing with his new friends as Liam attempts the robot and nearly hits someone in the face. He still can’t figure out what song is playing and the floor is still sticky, but he doesn’t notice any of that anymore.

“I think that boy’s staring at you,” Leigh Anne calls into his ear, nodding not-so-subtly at a pretty boy across the room.

“He’s probably staring at you,” Harry answers, mostly because he doesn’t know how to handle the attention of someone who looks like _that_ and he’d rather deflect. Sometimes he thinks he’d love to get together with someone and just get that first college hookup experience over with, but it also makes him a bit nervous. It was easier at home, when he knew who he could trust and who he couldn’t. It’s different here.

“He’s _definitely_ staring at you. Which, like, who wouldn’t, you’re hot,” Perrie says, poking him in the back. “You should go over and talk to him!”

Harry thinks about it, thinks about approaching this boy with dark hair and a sort-of toga wrapped around his waist that’s more like a tiny speedo. The combination of flashing lights, alcohol, and general disorientation makes it hard for him to see properly, but Harry can tell that he’s hot, tanned skin and abs and thighs that look sculpted out of marble. Harry’s intimidated just _thinking_ about talking to him.

He doesn’t get the chance, though, because Liam comes up and drags him away, telling him that Niall’s puking in the bushes outside and he’s asking for Harry.

Well, the party was sort of fun while it lasted, or at least it had definitely gotten fun once he’d had more to drink. But as Niall’s roommate, it’s probably his duty to go take care of him.

He goes outside and finds Niall throwing up his guts in the front yard. He rubs his back, feeling a bit helpless as he stands there in his sweaty, ill-fitting toga sheet.

“You okay, bud?” He can tell that Niall is absolutely not okay, but he isn’t quite sure what else one says to their vomiting roommate at two in the morning.

Niall just moans in response. “Don’t think I have anything left in my stomach.”

“Think it was that jungle juice stuff, Ni.” Harry hadn’t felt the greatest after drinking it, but he also hadn’t had as much as Niall had.

“Ew, don’t even say the name of it, I might get sick again.”

Harry helps him stand up and puts his arm around Niall’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home, okay? Maybe we can hit up the dining hall on the way back, get you some of those greasy fries you love so much before we go to bed.”

Niall groans again. “Alright.”

*

Tuesday morning brings his favorite class, Intro to Painting. It’s a nice reprieve from the rest of his schedule, which feels overwhelming at times; on Tuesdays he gets two hours to zone out and learn about techniques, about brushes and canvases and general art things.

It’s so much more than he ever learned on his own. Initially he’d been hesitant to take this class because he’s a goddamn studio art _major_ , and four years of high school art surely should have made it redundant. But it’s perfect: he feels confident enough in what he knows to do well, but he’s learning a lot of new things. Plus it’s nice to just relax and feel _good_ at something.

The girl who stands next to him is named Jade Thirlwall, and he’s thankful to the alphabetizing gods that they’re paired together. She’s kind and she’s funny and she’s always up for making jokes about the weird things their classmates do, which is good because there are a lot of them. It’s only the third week of class and they’ve already agreed to take Art History Part I together next semester.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” she asks him as they’re putting away their canvases to dry.

Harry doesn’t have another class for the rest of the day, which is perfect because he still needs to study for the exam. But he needs to eat; he might as well do it with Jade.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

“So you’re from New York, right?” Jade asks once they’ve gotten their food, pizza for her and the dining hall’s famous burritos for himself. “Why’d you come here?”

“My stepdad went here,” he explains once he’s finished chewing. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin; sour cream on his face isn’t a very good look. “He always talked about it when I was growing up, and I liked Boston, so I figured I’d apply. I kind of always knew I’d come here, you know?”

“You didn’t want to go back to England?” she asks.

“No, I’d never want to be that far away from my mum or my sister,” he tries to explain. “What about you? You’re from California, right?”

She nods. “Yeah, I live halfway between San Diego and LA. I was sick of the West Coast. I wanted to start a new life. To reinvent myself, I guess?”

He gets that; the whole reason he left New York was to get away, to try and figure out who he was apart from his family.

“Do you miss it?”

“I definitely miss the sunshine. In a few months we’ll be buried in snow and all my friends from home will be at the beach. I’ll probably cry every day.”

“I’ve already cried,” Harry confesses. It’s not necessarily that he’s homesick, exactly, because he’s navigating college pretty well on his own. But sometimes he wishes that he could go see his mum for a hug and one of her famous chocolate chip cookies. It usually hits him at the most random times: his art professor wearing the same perfume his mum does, everyone gathering to watch the first football game of the season and knowing his stepdad is watching it without him, someone in his lecture having the same travel mug Gemma loves. It’s always unexpected, and it feels like a punch to the gut every time it happens.

He’s only cried himself to sleep a few times though, and he figures that’s pretty good.

“You too?” Jade asks, eyebrows raised.

“Every day for the first week. Usually in the shower. Not so much since then. ‘S getting a bit better, you know?”

“A little bit,” Jade says, and then it’s like all her walls have been broken down; she’s talking about how she’s pretty sure her boyfriend will break up with her because of the distance and how the water here tastes different and even her hair is reacting differently to the atmosphere.

“Just stick it out,” he suggests a few minutes later, after she’s used three napkins to wipe her tears. “I think it’s gonna get really good; we just have to stick it out.”

*

The microeconomics exam is in eight hours, and Harry cannot study for even one more minute. Niall’s at a recruiting event for the debate club, and Liam, who’s in his micro class too, is absolutely nowhere to be found. That’s just as well though; more than once he’s spotted Liam napping in the corner of the room during lectures.

It’s not that he hasn’t been studying, because he _has_. It's that if he tries to read one more sentence on the goddamn page, his brain might catch fire.

He really should go to sleep; that's what he would do if he were smarter. Instead, he's going to bake. It’s been his go-to way to relieve stress ever since he was ten and his mum decided they were moving to the States to live with her fiancé. His family knows by now to expect to find him in the kitchen before final exams or big performances. It’s the whole reason Gemma gifted him with a full set of kitchen supplies just before he moved to college. The floor kitchen is tiny, but he can use it whenever he wants

So, baking. That should fix it.

*

He’s putting the cookies in the oven when it happens.

“Hey, not to be rude or anything, but can you keep it the fuck down?”

He spins on his heel, and there's a boy standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his green hoodie, and he's wearing socks but no shoes. He looks adorably sleep-rumbled and a little bit angry.

“Like, your singing is nice, but it's really fucking loud,” he continues.

“You're English. Me too,” Harry says after a minute of staring, and then he wants to smack himself in the face with an oven mitt. Repeatedly.

“Well, that's lovely, but are you going to keep singing all night?”

Harry flushes under his stare. He may have gotten a little too into his rendition of _I Want It That Way_. “I’m so sorry,” he says in a rush. “My first exam is in seven hours and I bake when I'm stressed. Do you want a cookie?”

“Looks like you don't actually have any to offer me,” the boy says, and, right, the cookies are still in the oven.

“I have muffins?” Harry offers weakly, and it comes out like a question but the boy pulls himself off the doorframe and comes into the room anyway.

“Yeah, I could go for a muffin,” he says as he takes one from the wire cooling tray and hoists himself up onto the counter with one hand.

Harry just watches in amusement as the boy peels off the silver foil wrapping and takes a massive bite. The microeconomics textbook sits forgotten on the counter next to him. There’s no way Harry’s going to be studying right now, not when there’s a distraction, one that comes in the form of a boy with chiseled cheekbones who’s just demolished a banana muffin in five quick bites.

“I feel a bit bad complaining about the singing now. Because that was an excellent muffin, uh…”

“Harry. Harry Styles.”

“Think it’s supposed to go like ‘Styles. Harry Styles.’ if you’re going for the whole Bond thing there.”

It’s not really that funny, but Harry laughs anyway. The sound echoes in the small room, and the other boy smiles.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson. Thanks for the muffin.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, and then before he can say anything else, the oven timer beeps. Thank God, because Harry is on the verge of getting lost in his deep blue eyes and that won’t turn out well. He spins around to grab the oven mitt to get the cookies out of the oven.

Louis’ stomach rumbles when Harry drops the tray of cookies onto the stovetop.

“Think I might need to take you up on that earlier offer of a cookie, Harry. Staying up this late makes me hungry.”

“You know you could just go to McDonough for food. Isn’t it open 24/7?” Harry asks as he climbs onto the counter opposite from Louis. He _knows_ the dining hall closest to them is open all night because last week Niall convinced him to put on clothes and get tacos at three in the morning. He hopes Louis doesn’t take the bait though; something within him wants to get Louis to laugh so the corners of his eyes will go crinkly again.

“Think I might just hold out for cookies, if that’s alright.” Louis is kicking his heels against the cabinets, tapping out a staccato beat.

“It’s not like I can eat all of them, so please, be my guest.” Harry was planning to bake a cake, too, but that would involve pulling his attention away from Louis, and he doesn’t feel up to that right now.

“So what’s your exam for, then?”

“Intro to Microeconomics. It’s fucking awful. I honestly only took it because the professor’s hot. It’s not worth it.”

Louis bursts into a laugh, this beautiful sound that’s even better than the one Harry remembers from ten minutes ago. Harry kind of wants to hear it every day for forever, if he can.

“Isn’t the professor for that class William Warner?” Louis asks, an interested little smile on his face.

“Yeah. Have you _seen_ him?” Harry shoots back.

“I have, yeah. ‘S why I took the class in the first place. Seems like we’ve got the same taste.” He grins, and then Harry grins back goofily and _hey_ , his suspicions were right.

“You already took it? How does that work?”  
  
“Ah well, that’s a long story, one we don’t have time for tonight. Not if I’m going to help you ace this exam.” He says it like it’s already been decided. And maybe it has.

“You -- you’re going to help me study?” Harry asks, incredulous. This night is not turning out anything like he imagined.

“Well, yeah,” Louis says with a shrug of his shoulder. “Seems like a good way to repay you for all the cookies I’m about to eat. Speaking of…”

He pushes himself off the counter, sliding down to plant both feet on the floor with surprising grace. He reaches over and plucks a cookie off the tray, one from the very middle. He takes a bite without even blowing on it to see if it’s cooled.

“Harry, this is delicious,” he mumbles through a mouth full of cookie. “Perfectly soft, but not too soft.”

“Okay, Goldilocks,” Harry answers as he pushes himself off the counter to get his own cookie.

“Think that was about the porridge being too hot, not too mushy.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry says flippantly as he takes a bite. “And _wow_ , speaking of too hot, this definitely qualifies. I think I’m burning my mouth.”

“Oh, come off it. They’re not that hot,” Louis says, poking Harry in the leg with his socked toes. “Do you want me to help you study or not? It’s a limited time offer, you know.”

“Yeah, okay. Can’t say no to the offer of a private tutor,” Harry acknowledges. “Budge over then, let me sit down.” He jumps onto the counter next to Louis and picks up his textbook. Louis takes it from him, and there’s the briefest second where their fingers brush before Louis moves away.

“Okay, so Warner’s tests aren’t that tough, but you need to know how to approach them. Here’s what you need to study…”

He walks Harry through four chapters of material, explaining market failure, supply and demand, all those things Harry had been trying to understand for weeks but could never fully grasp. Something in the way Louis talked about it all made Harry sit up and pay attention.

It takes two hours, but by the end of it Harry feels a lot more confident for the exam and a little like he and Louis are maybe meant to be. What they’re meant to be he’s not entirely sure, but he just want to know Louis, wants to sit there and look at him, admiring all that he is. It’s probably a bit ridiculous. They’ve just met. But sometimes people are in each other’s lives for a reason.

They spend another half hour talking, Louis kicking the cabinets with his heels and eating half the cookies and Harry making a batch of dough for them to eat with spoons right out of the bowl.

When Harry finally peels himself away for a few hours of sleep, he feels lighter than he has in the past month.

*

Entering the exam room feels like a death march. It’s hot out, warm for mid-September, and the city feels a little bit restless with it. The heat inside the exam hall is oppressive, a combination of humidity and hundreds of bodies packed in one room and the pure fear of the looming exam.

Professor Warner is looking especially lovely today, dressed in jeans and a pink checkered button down. He’s all idle chat as he passes out the exam papers, talking about how his baby daughter took her first steps last night and how his spouse cried but honestly, just between him and the class, he cried too. Harry is like, 90% sure he has a husband. But wow, _spouse_ , what a good word. Should get used more often.

Harry aces the test. Like, ‘knows all the answers and turns in his exam first’ kind of aces it. And as he leaves the lecture hall, all he can do is think about Louis and how to say thank you properly. He never would have felt so confident without him, never would have known how to mentally attack the test without all the tips Louis gave him last night.

The trouble is that he’s not entirely sure where Louis lives. Presumably somewhere in Harry’s building, considering he was on Harry’s floor at two in the morning.

He doesn’t see him again until two days later. Harry’s in line to buy a pack of highlighters in the bookstore when he spots him over in the electronics section. Harry’s been waiting in this line for at least fifteen minutes, is just two customers away from the end, but he pushes his way past the mass of grumbling students behind him anyway, not wanting to wait another minute to talk to Louis.

“You know,” he announces when he’s just a few feet away as Louis is reading the back of a video game case, “they’re coming out with a new FIFA in a few weeks. Hear it’s a big improvement if you just want to wait for that one…”

“Harry!” Louis whirls around with a beaming smile on his face. Harry wants to hug him, but he worries it’s too soon. He’s saved from his thoughts when Louis leans in for one with absolutely no hesitation. “Hi! How are you? How was the exam?” When he pulls away, he’s smiling.

“So, so easy, thanks to you. Like, you totally saved my ass. Thank you.”

“I’m glad, I’ve been thinking about you like, the _whole_ time.” Harry blinks, and then Louis blushes. “Sorry, that was probably too honest. Just like, wondering how you did. I’m proper invested now -- I need to get my hands on some more of your cookies.”

“I can make you your own batch,” Harry offers quickly, probably a little too eager to please. He scratches at the back of his neck. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say thank you.”

“There’s genuinely no need,” Louis says, passing the video game from hand to hand. But Harry can’t just leave it at this, one night of studying, _the end_. Like yeah, Louis is cute and he has these deep blue eyes that are the color of the swimming pool where Harry used to practice in high school and when he laughs his eyes are crinkly. But Harry also feels a connection with him, the potential, like they could be actual friends.

Which is why he doesn’t even feel weird when he blurts out, “Do you like fro-yo?”

Louis just blinks. “Do I -- what now, Harry?”

“Do you like frozen yogurt? I’ve been meaning to check out that place two blocks down, the one next to the bowling alley. D’you want to come?”

There’s the space of three heartbeats where it looks like Louis might say no. And then he puts the FIFA game back on the shelf and loops his arm through Harry’s. “Lead the way.”

Harry sets the highlighters on top of a stack of biology textbooks. He can buy them some other day.

*

“So tell me the long story, now that we have more time,” Harry says, licking a stray bit of vanilla frozen yogurt off his plastic spoon.

“What are you on about?” And yeah, it’s a statement out of the blue, especially since Louis was in the middle of a story about his little sisters. But it’s something Harry has been wondering about for over two days now, ever since Louis first mentioned it, and he wants an answer.

“How you already took Warner’s micro class.”

“Well, I took it last autumn.”

“What? You’re not a freshman?”

“No, no, I am,” Louis answers, scraping the last bits of fro-yo out of his paper cup. “Well, sort of.”

“What does that mean? How can one be ‘sort of’ a freshman?”

“I went here last year. And then I got injured the first week of second semester and had to go home to have surgery. Never came back. Until now.”

“What happened?”

Louis sighs heavily, but nothing in his countenance suggests it’s a story he doesn’t want to tell. “I got recruited here to play football,” he starts.

Harry raises his eyebrows, disbelieving. “You? You play football?” Louis is just a bit… small, is all.

“No, sorry, football like soccer. Jesus, I thought you were British. I want that story in exchange for this one. And no, I don’t play anymore.”

“Because of the injury,” Harry infers, and he’s a little bit caught up in _I thought you were British_ , in Louis remembering something he’d mentioned just once.

“Because of the injury,” Louis confirms. He spins his paper cup around and around on the table. “It went brilliantly last autumn when I first arrived. Scored a load of goals, felt on top of the world. I never could’ve afforded to come here if I hadn’t been recruited.”

Harry feels a little bit paralyzed at the thought that there’s some kind of devastating injury to come in this story.

Louis has stopped spinning the paper cup. “The week we got back after Christmas we had a practice match. Just a kickabout, really. I was going for a goal when one of the juniors slid into me. I tore my ACL.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, basically.” The look on Louis’ face is one of remembered pain. “So my mum had me come home for surgery, and it took a few weeks to recover from that, and by then it was too late to come back for the semester. Can't really play footie anymore, which is the worst part. I didn’t want to leave here because I’d already made friends, but it sucks not being able to play.”

“Wow. That sucks, to be honest. Not sure what else to say.”

Louis laughs, low and hollow. “That's pretty much all there is to say. Can't fix anything now.” He fixes his fringe and stares at the table, the look on his face sadder than he seems to want to let on. It doesn't take more than a second for Harry to brush the back of Louis’ hand with his own palm, laying it on top of Louis’. The touch is light but more intimate than Harry had intended, a little too serious.

But then again, is there a way to respond to the most wonderful human you've ever met (he doesn't think it’s an exaggeration) telling you that their dreams have been shattered?

He tries to distract Louis with tales of happier days after that, telling him about the time his mum gifted him with a kitten on the day he finished primary school and dancing around the yard with his sister and how elated he was on the day he got his acceptance to college.

Louis listens intently, ocean blue eyes focused on Harry’s face, and Harry feels something inside of him settle like bubbly champagne in his veins. He feels important, cared about, special. He feels like he matters, and when he gets Louis to laugh at a joke about how they both love shitty reality television shows, he feels truly comfortable for the first time since he’s arrived at college.

*

The dining hall is one of Harry’s favorite places on campus. Not just because of the unlimited food (he’ll leave that to Niall, who goes there at least four times a day and still manages to be skinny) but also because it feels like the living, breathing center of the university. It's the one place that everyone’s (almost always) relaxed, focused on the same goal, the buzz around the whole place both very apparent and wonderful. He’s always loved being around a table, sharing food and talking to his people and making memories. That's what it feels like to him, like he's making the memories he's going to talk to his kids about when he tells them about his college experience.

He’s having dinner with Niall and Zayn and Liam, eating a sesame chicken salad and listening to Zayn talk about his documentary film class.

“We have to do a video of our lives, one ten minute video each week for the rest of the semester,” Zayn explains through a mouth full of pizza. “Hope you lads are okay with me filming you.”

“Dude, that’s sick!” Niall exclaims, dropping a buffalo chicken wing back onto his plate. “We’re gonna be famous.”

“Don’t know if you’ll be _famous_ , but you’ll have all your weird habits captured on camera for the rest of the semester,” Zayn retorts.

“Still. Worth it.”

“You really want to be famous, Niall?” Liam asks, one eyebrow cocked. He’s holding a black pen, hand hovering above his notes where he’s paused to look at Niall.

“I mean, I don’t need to be famous exactly, but I’m not complaining if Zaynie wants to try.”

Zayn frowns at the nickname. “Told you not to call me that.”

“Aw but you love me, yes you do,” Niall coos as he reaches across the table to pinch Zayn on the cheek.

“Stop it!” He halfheartedly swats Niall away, and his tone is grumbling but Harry can see a hint of a smile where he’s bent his head to let his bangs cover his face. “Why am I friends with you lot, you're all awful.”

“Heeyy, we’re really not,” Harry retorts. “And you're stuck with us now anyway. Sorry not sorry.”

He can't say anything more then because he spots a flash of movement across the dining hall, a walk that he recognizes. It's Louis. It looks like he’s waiting in line for the sesame chicken salad. Excellent taste, that boy.

Harry feels his throat go a bit tight at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a pale blue button-down and khakis, like he’s just been somewhere important. He looks ridiculously handsome, his hair styled nicely and a smile on his face as he talks to the woman serving the salad line.

Harry has absolutely, one hundred percent no chance of ever dating Louis, because he’s ridiculously out of Harry’s league. He still wants to be best friends with him all the same, because the way they click is like nothing else he’s ever experienced before.

He has no other explanation for it, nothing to describe the way that Louis’ bright smile and blue eyes make his insides feel like lava, make him want to be around Louis all the time. He’d probably be fine listening to Louis read the phone book. He wouldn’t care what they did, as long as Louis was there.

Harry watches as Louis takes the salad from the woman with a smile (he can’t see from this far away but he’s willing to bet his sister’s life that the corners of his eyes are all crinkled up) and takes a knife and fork from the utensil station. He walks away and then stops short, eyes searching for something. He’s still looking when Harry decides _to hell with it_ and waves Louis over.

“Louis! Louis!” He’s probably yelling; he doesn’t care that much. It’s worth it when Louis spots him and the squinty face he’d been making transforms into a blinding smile as he starts walking over to them.

“You know Louis?” Zayn asks, eyes wide in surprise. From the corner of his eye Harry can see Louis getting closer. “My Louis, you know him?”

“What do you mean _your_ Louis? He’s my friend, how do you know him?”

“We met at the international stu--” he’s cut off by Louis’ arrival, and Harry turns all of his attention over to Louis, who’s at the head of the table now.

“Hi Harry,” he says softly, and then his eyes scan over the rest of the table’s inhabitants. “Zayn? You guys know each other?”

“He’s one of my best friends,” Harry says, and Zayn beams at the comment. It’s true though, Harry would say it about any of them, Niall, Liam or Zayn, because they are. It’s been a month now, and they’re the ones that are keeping him sane.

“How do you guys know each other?” Zayn asks, eyes narrowed. He almost looks suspicious. Harry reaches up and tugs at the sleeve of Louis’ shirt, trying to get him to sit down next to him. He does, sliding into the circular booth and staring at Zayn across the table.

“We met last week and he helped me study for my micro exam,” Harry explains. This whole thing is very, very weird. Louis isn’t even technically a freshman; how would he know Zayn? It’s weird.

“Wait,” Zayn says, dropping his fork to the table with a loud clatter and sitting up straight. “Your Harry is _my_ Harry?” It’s directed to Louis, but there’s a buzz inside of Harry that sounds like _your Harry your Harry your Harry_. Louis’ Harry. He likes the sound of that.

“Looks like it,” Louis says. “But hey, the more the merrier.”

“Have you two...did you guys talk about me?” Harry looks over at Louis, who seems to suddenly have found his salad very interesting and is chopping up the mandarin orange slices with force.

“Louis told me that he made a new friend,” Zayn says with a teasing grin, and he’s not willing to say more but it’s clear that he and Louis talked about him. Louis’ cheeks are a bit pink. Once Louis has been introduced to the others and the conversation picks back up again, Harry pokes him in the side.

“I can’t believe you know my Zayn,” he says when the other boys are distracted. “Small world.”

“I was actually staying in his room the night that we met,” Louis confesses. Harry raises an eyebrow. He’s just remembered that he still hasn’t figured out where Louis actually lives. “My roommate had his girlfriend over, and I couldn’t sleep with the two of them there. Texted Zayn and asked to crash with him.”

“And then you ended up hanging out with me instead.” Harry’s proud, and so happy it worked out that way because who knows if he would’ve met Louis otherwise. But then again, they probably would have. Fate, and all that.

“Well, I’m glad you know him,” Louis says, poking Harry hard in his side, no doubt retribution for Harry’s poke a few minutes ago.

“Why’s that?”

“Makes it a lot easier for me to be friends with all of you at the same time,” Louis says with a grin. “Means I can hang out with you whenever I want.”

They spend the rest of the meal talking, and Harry’s smile doesn’t leave his face once.

*

Harry has a weekly standing Skype date on Monday afternoons with his mum, so after his micro class he grabs a spicy black bean wrap from the Pita Pit around the corner from his dorm and heads back to his room.

Niall’s playing FIFA on the Xbox, but he never cares when Harry talks to his mum so Harry doesn’t bother leaving.

“I miss you,” his mum says after they both log on. “The house is so quiet without you here. It’s just me and Robin and the dogs. And the cats, but they’re already quiet.”

“I wish I could say it’s quiet here, but it’s pretty much the exact opposite,” Harry answers, and Niall snorts.

“Is that your roommate? How’s he doing? Are you two getting along?”

“Mum, he can hear you,” Harry says as Niall laughs across the room. “So because of that, I'm going to tell you that he's a total pain in the ass.”

“Language, Harry,” she chastises, despite her smile. “I’m glad you're getting along though. We really do miss you. Anything interesting happening there?”

“Well, I made this new friend Louis and we went to get fro-yo last week. He's from Doncaster and he used to play football and he’s so funny, just like, tells the best stories. He’s the best, really. He’s…yeah, he's great.”

His mother is staring at him with a funny look and he quickly closes his mouth.

“Well... he sounds wonderful, love. I’m really happy you've made a friend. But I really do miss you, at least when Gemma left for school I had you to keep me company.”

“I’ll be home at Thanksgiving, it’s not that far away.”

“You’re right. Just seems so long to wait at the moment, I can’t wait to have you all back. Don’t forget that you can bring a friend home with you if you want.”

“I think it’s a bit early to be making Thanksgiving plans, Mum.”

“Still, I just want you to remember. Maybe you can invite this new friend of yours you sound so fond of. I doubt he’s going all the way back to England for a weekend.”

Harry hadn’t even given a thought to Thanksgiving until now, not when there’s so many other things to focus on. But it’s true; Louis likely won’t be going anywhere for Thanksgiving.  

“Alright, well, I’ll talk to him.” If he gives a few seconds thought to having Louis hanging out at his house, sleeping in his childhood room, he’d never admit it. “Anyway, let me tell you about this new art project we’re working on…”

*

Harry is never going to trust Niall about anything ever again. He’s probably going to stick dirty tissues in his bed and mess up the organization of his closet and put itching powder in all his boxers and he’s never, _ever_ going to forgive him.

He hops from foot to foot, trying to keep himself warm. It’s unseasonably cold for the end of September, there’s a cold snap that’s supposed to break tomorrow but that’s _tomorrow_ , and this is _today_ and he’s _cold_. He’s also embarrassed, standing on a city street dressed like this, but he's trying to ignore that embarrassment right now.

He presses his hands up against the big window that's next to the entrance to his dorm and looks for any sign of life, anyone who might be able to let him in.

Fucking Niall, telling him not to go back for his forgotten ID card, that he’d be with him to get the both of them back in.

Seven or eight minutes that go by without any sign of life, and the security monitor that always shows up at 8 pm is starting to get suspicious of him. He should make a sign that says “I’m not a creeper, my roommate is just a major dick.”

But to do that he’d need paper and a pen, but those are locked in his room, along with his student ID card and his phone. And he’s cold.

He’s about to abandon all hope and walk to the library when he sees Louis.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a thin t-shirt and socks but no shoes. There’s a huge laundry basket hoisted against his hip, messy clothes threatening to fall out at any second. But Harry doesn't care about any of that.

He starts banging on the glass with both fists, and if the security monitor wasn't already considering calling campus police on him, she certainly is now.

Before she gets a chance, Louis spots him and drops the basket on the floor as he makes his way through the entryway. He stops short when he gets close and breaks into a grin, but not one that says _oh hey, this is a surprise, I'm happy to see you._ No, this grin is more teasing, like there's trouble ahead.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a photo. Harry can hear the clicking sound through the glass and his face falls. “Come on, Lou, it's not funny! Let me in.”

Louis takes another photo before he relents and opens the door. He’s still laughing. “It’s not funny!”

“It is!” Louis protests, clutching his side like it’s hurting. Good, he deserves a stitch in his side for this. “Why are you in your underpants? What happened to your clothes? It’s freezing outside!”

Harry pushes inside the door. Harry protests as he snatches Louis’ phone out of his hand and swipes to look at the photos. “I’m deleting this,” he says. He’s stopped by Louis’ hand looped around his wrist, distracting him enough for Louis to take the phone away with his other hand.

“You’re not,” Louis says, slipping the phone into his sweatpants pocket. “Again, I ask: why aren’t you wearing real clothes?”

Louis’ eyes slip down to scan his body, and Harry feels it like a flame warming him. He suddenly feels self-conscious in a way he never does when he’s nearly naked.

Harry waits until Louis’ eyes are back on his face a moment later, and then he sighs heavily. It’s a long story. “Niall tried to convince me to pledge a frat.”

Louis’ eyes go wide. “He _what_? No way.” He laughs. “ _You_ , in a frat?”

“Hey,” Harry protests, “I could be in a frat.” He doesn’t really want to be in a frat, not anymore, but it feels important to him that he defend his eligibility all the same.

”Yeah, I mean, you’ve got the curls and the dimple and the right amount of snapbacks to impress the ladies,” Louis says casually. “But is that really what you want for your college experience?”

Harry’s about to protest, but they’re in the middle of the dorm lobby and he’d really like to put on a shirt if he could.

“I mean, not anymore. The whole thing was stupid.” He shrugs. The thing _was_ stupid, and he should’ve known that anything that made him show up in only his boxers would be. He hadn’t _known_ about the boxers until he got there, and Niall took both of their clothes and shoved them into a corner of the frat house. Harry had snuck out early, not interested in being part of the group. He’s a little hurt about the fact that he didn’t really feel like he fit in there; he’s usually such a people person and can talk to anyone.

Niall, of course, had got into a conversation about football with one of the fraternity brothers and had been swept away, hadn’t even noticed when Harry had left. Well, Harry’s not going to begrudge him that. He loves Niall, but they’re not the same person. Niall can do his own thing, and Harry’s gonna try not to be sad about it.

“I don’t have my ID, so you’re gonna have to sign me in,” Harry explains.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Hey, you wanna come watch telly with me? My show’s starting soon.” Louis pulls Harry by the elbow, guiding him to the security desk. Thankfully, Harry manages to convince the woman he really does live there, and she lets him into the building.

“What show is it?”

“Well, you’ll have to wait and see, Harry, won’t you,” Louis says with a smirk as he picks up his abandoned basket of laundry and pushes the button for the elevator.

Louis lives on the ninth floor. Harry’s never been to Louis’ room before; he’d only just discovered last night at dinner that they lived in the same building. “My roommate’s a bit of a twat, just to warn you,” Louis says apologetically as he unlocks the door with his key and pushes inside. “Well, this is home sweet home for the year.”

The room is the same size as Harry’s, but the layout is different and it's so much _messier_. That might have more to do with the fact that both Harry and Niall clean when they're stressed out (which has admittedly been a lot lately) than a comment on Louis’ character, but still. Louis has just done his laundry and there's a heap of dirty clothes on the couch below the lofted bed. There’s two desks, both facing the windows behind the beds.

“Here, let me clean off a place for you to sit,” Louis says, dropping his laundry basket onto the desk (is it rude for Harry to assume he doesn't use it much for studying?) and transfers the clothes from the couch to on top of the laundry basket.

“You've just mixed up your dirty stuff with your clean,” Harry blurts in horror before he can think to stop himself. Louis stares at him, blinking slowly, and Harry claps his hand over his mouth. “I mean...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

Louis laughs. “It's okay, you're right. But, I dunno, I know that it's a bit of a mess in here. But I know where everything is and my roommate doesn't complain, so that counts for something, yeah?”

“I could clean it for you,” Harry blurts out, and _wow_ he really needs to learn to shut up. “I just mean, like, I clean when I’m stressed.”

“I thought you liked to bake,” Louis says as he rips open a microwave popcorn packet with his teeth.

“I guess both,” Harry says sheepishly. He’s hovering in the middle of the room, watching Louis get the microwave going and throwing things off his bed onto the floor. “I like being domestic.”

“Domestic,” Louis repeats. “Huh. Hey, do you want some clothes? You’re probably a bit chilly. Think I have something you could borrow.” He rifles through a drawer next to his bed and tosses something bright green at him. Harry catches it easily.

“I think your stuff will be a bit small on me, Lou,” Harry teases, holding the hoodie up against his chest to see how it’ll fit. It’s green, with a little yellow Adidas logo on the side, and soft against his fingertips. It smells _really_ nice. He slips it on, and even though Louis is so much smaller, it fits him so well.

“So what are we watching, then?” Harry asks as he takes a seat on the couch. _It’s just a hoodie, chill out._ He tucks his feet up under him and watches Louis scoop popcorn into two bowls.

“ _Real Housewives of Beverly Hills_ ,” Louis answers, sitting down next to him. The couch isn’t that big; if Harry moved his toes a few inches to the left he’d be brushing Louis’ thigh. He’s tempted, wonders what Louis would do, but he resolves to stay on his side. “Hope that’s good with you.”

“Amazing,” Harry answers. “Lisa Vanderpump is a goddess.”

“I _know_!” Louis answers. “She’s incredible. I mean, she’s a huge bitch but honestly, I worship her.”

“Okay, same. Also, can we talk about how Lisa Rinna’s lips make me uncomfortable?”

“Yes!” Louis exclaims. “Like, I can’t really look at them for that long because I get scared. I miss Brandi. They should bring her back.” He sighs heavily, and it’s only a little adorable.

“I know. I miss her too.”

The rest of the night goes like that, bantering back and forth and tossing popcorn at each other. At some point Harry’s toes migrate to touch Louis’ thigh and neither of them say a word but they’re both very aware of it.

*

Harry wakes up on the second of October and it’s like a switch has flipped. He’s stopped crying himself to sleep whenever something goes wrong, which is a major improvement. He’s grown to feel comfortable, knows his way around, knows what time to get to the dining hall in order to get a seat without major struggle. He’s got a solid group of friends, better than he could have hoped for, and he feels at home.

It’s about time.

The first two weeks of October pass in a blur, taking notes in class and trying to stay on top of studying and working on art projects and making time for weeknight 2 am dining hall tater tots runs with Niall. He goes to another frat party, this time with all his friends in tow, and the night isn’t much better than the last one but at least no one throws up. Trashy television night with Louis becomes a tradition the two of them refuse to miss, though it moves to Harry’s room because Niall’s television is better.

A feeling of anticipation has swept in along with the colder air. It’s Harry’s favorite season, and the five of them are discussing Halloween costumes (Harry’s suggestion of Cats the Musical has been unanimously vetoed, so he’s scouring the internet for group costumes), spending lots of time outside playing frisbee while dressed in hoodies, and planning Halloween movie marathons. He and Niall decorate their room with pumpkin and ghost cutouts and orange and black streamers they find at the dollar store.

Louis laughs the first time he sees them. “What is this, a haunted house?”

“Hey, watch it,” Harry warns.

“What is this, _a center for ants_?” Niall mocks as he slips on his jacket. “Me and Harry, we like Halloween.”

“Love it,” Harry adds. “‘S my favorite holiday. Well, maybe after Christmas.”

“Yeah, I can tell, _pumpkin_ ,” Louis says, voice fond as he ruffles Harry’s hair when he walks by. He jumps up on Harry’s bed, arms open for Harry to sit next to him. “Come on, sit down, the show’s about to start. Plus I brought snacks.”

“Snacks?” Niall asks as Harry crawls onto his bed next to Louis, thighs pressed against each other and backs against the wall.

“Apple cider donuts,” Louis confirms with a nod, drawing them out of his backpack like he’s been hiding a secret.

“Why didn’t you say something when you got here, I’m going to be late for my chapter meeting now!” Niall complains, already reaching out to open the plastic container on Louis’ lap.

“Nialler, I _did_ just get here,” Louis says, clearly amused as Niall pops a donut in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. He takes two more, mumbling something that sounds like ‘gonna take these ones for the road.’

Harry watches, amused, as Niall tries to chew, hold the other donuts, and put on his backpack at the same time. He might be one of the smartest people Harry’s ever met, but he’s certainly lacking common sense at times. In the end, he only drops a quarter of a donut on his quest to get out the door.

“Behave! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lovebirds. Toodle-oo.”

It’s like this every week; anytime Louis shows up with snacks for their TV night, Niall’s always running late for his fraternity meeting but insists on getting a fair portion of the snacks anyway. (“You’re using my TV, Tommo, that gets me at least a quarter of whatever you bring.”) It’s easier now to just agree.

They’re halfway through the show when Harry’s phone beeps with a text. He frowns when he reads it. It’s, uh, not entirely unexpected, but he doesn’t know how to react.

“Who’s that, Hazza?” Louis asks, eyes fixed on the TV. Lisa Vanderpump is fighting with Eileen again.

“It’s uh, no one,” Harry rushes to say, and it’s a mistake because the quick dismissal gets Louis’ attention. Louis reaches out to grab the phone, and Harry tries to fight him off, his fingers around Louis’ wrist as he attempts to push him away.

“Come on, who is it, let me see. I thought we didn’t have secrets.”

And he’s right, they don’t; since day one Harry has felt like he could tell Louis anything, and he’s taken advantage of the fact right from the start. So no, they don’t have secrets. But Harry doesn’t want Louis to know about _this_.

It doesn’t matter, because Louis gets ahold of the phone. He types in Harry’s passcode, because _of course_ he knows it, and when he reads the text, his face falls.

“Who’s Evan?” he asks quietly, arms dropping to rest on his legs. Harry doesn’t say anything, just picks at a stray thread in his bedspread. “You guys are going apple picking?”

“He wants to,” Harry says, finally raising his face to look Louis in the eye. Louis’ face is devoid of emotion; Harry would almost prefer if he were sad. Then at least he’d have an idea of where he stood. “I haven’t said anything yet. He’s just this guy in my micro class…”

The thing is, Evan is kind of pretentious, one of those guys who thinks they know more than almost everyone else in the room. But he’s interested in Harry, had gotten his number from a group project they did together three weeks ago and has texted him intermittently ever since. This is the first time he’s been so forward as to ask him out, and though Harry’s been reserved thus far, he thinks he might say yes.

It’s just nice to feel wanted.

He can settle for being best friends with Louis. He _can_. It hurts that Louis doesn’t seem to want him like Harry wants Louis. If he did, he’d have done something about it by now. Harry can get over it, can have fun with handsome boys like Evan and then come home and watch trashy tv and laugh at all of Louis’ jokes. He won’t be living in limbo anymore, wondering if Louis will ever figure it out and want to date him. He’ll know exactly where he stands. It’ll be enough.

Louis smiles then, but it’s a too bright smile that looks a little fake, nothing like his real crinkly-eyed one. He wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him close and squeezing him tight. “Forget about Evan. I’ll take you apple picking, and we’ll have way more fun than you would with him. Now be quiet, the show’s coming back on.”

Harry agrees easily, texts Evan and tells him he can’t this weekend. There’s a little feeling in the pit of his stomach that says maybe it wasn’t the right decision. Louis is happy though, and that’s all that Harry really cares about.

*

“Anyone in here?” Harry asks, poking his head into a study carrel in the basement of the library.

“Hey babes!” Perrie calls. “What’s up?”

“Hiya, Hazza,” Louis greets him with a smile, and Harry pouts at him until he stands up to hug him. Louis gives the best hugs of anyone he knows (but he’ll never tell his mum).

“What are we doing? Got your text about meeting you here.” Harry says as he settles in on the chair next to Louis; Perrie watches with a funny smile on her face as Harry scoots his over until their arm rests are touching. He peers over to look at the book Louis is currently highlighting in yellow, broad swaths of the page covered in it.

“Well,” Perrie says with a dramatic sigh, “we are _supposed_ to be working on our sociology presentation.” She points at the library computer screen, which shows a PowerPoint that reads _The Role of Family in American Society_. “Instead, Louis is reading through his lines for the school musical.”

Harry smacks his palm down on the table in excitement and turns to face Louis. “You got it? You got in?”

“I got the role,” Louis confirms with a smile. It starts off timid and then quickly spreads into something much larger as Harry beams at him. Louis is going to play the lead role in _Grease_ as a _freshman_. Well, a sort-of freshman. It’s unheard of; the main role almost always goes to juniors. “The show is the first two weekends of December. Will you come?”

Harry dives in to wrap his arms right around Louis’ neck. “Of course, Lou. I’ll be in the front row of every show. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His words are muffled in Louis’ shoulder, but he knows Louis can hear him, because he tightens his arm around Harry’s waist. The position is awkward because they’re sitting, but they don’t pull away until Perrie gives a little cough.

“Still here, babes. Can we get back to the presentation?” She’s twisting a long lock of hair around her pen, clearly bored of the scene between the two of them.

Harry pulls away, not apologetic whatsoever. Why should he be, when he’s got Louis as a best friend? He’s ridiculously proud of him.

Louis turns to Harry and rolls his eyes. “Perrie,” he says dramatically, “insists on me helping her with this presentation about the American family. I’m not even bloody American!.”

“Maybe that’s the reason Professor Neuman gave you the assignment, huh? Or did you forget this is a group project? Harry, tell him that he needs to pull his weight.”

Harry has learned that the first thing people ever notice about Perrie is that she’s stunningly beautiful. She’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and these sharp features that stick out to anyone who sees her. She’s kind of like Zayn in that way, that person that everyone wants to know, wants to be around. The two of them should go off and be the face of a modeling campaign, or make very pretty babies together. But Perrie’s not just pretty; she’s hard-working and caring and an all around firecracker of a human. She and Louis are the best of friends, almost as close as Harry and Louis (keyword being _almost_ ).

“Hazza, she wants me to make the Powerpoint even though I did _all_ the research already. Plus, I need to run through my lines twice every day and she refuses to help me.”

“Because I already did help you! We just spent _all_ that time going through the show,” Perrie protests, face pinched in frustration.

“We only ran through them one time and you weren’t even _engaged_ , that hardly counts, how am I supposed to memorize anything when you’re sitting there looking like you’d rather be watching fookin’ paint dry, honestly.”

He does not understand the relationship between the two of them at _all._  Perrie’s Louis is so much different than Harry’s Louis, just a totally different side of him. Harry could watch the two of them interact for days, even if he doesn’t get it. They’re constantly bickering with each other, but they also love each other ridiculous amounts. Harry has found them gossiping about other students more times than he can count, and though it’s not always the nicest activity, he does find that sometimes their comments have merit. Like, when girls are dressed like their outfit came from the Halloween costume aisle.

Which reminds him.

“Hey, are you cool with doing High School Musical for our Halloween costumes?” He asks Louis, breaking the argument still going on. Perrie just blinks at him, but Louis nods, his eyes wide in excitement.

“Yes. Absolutely. But only if I can be Troy.”

Okay, that’s one on his side then. Three more to go.

“Harry, come on, you’re supposed to be making him study. The two of you are terrible -- can’t get anything done when you’re together, but can’t accomplish anything when you’re separated, either..”

Harry sighs. Louis _can_ control himself; they all know that he doesn’t need Harry to do it for him. How is he the peacemaker in _every_ friend group? “Lou, how about we go through your lines together at dinner? Pez, what if I promise you his attention until…seven o’clock, so you’ve got an hour. Sound good?”

They both nod and get to work. That problem solved, Harry settles back in his chair and pulls up the Pinterest app on his phone.

Time to find some kickass Halloween costumes.

*

“I think it’s time for us to start exercising,” Liam says as he fills the remaining seat at the circular table at the dining hall later that week. “I can’t keep eating like this.”

“So you mean _you_ need to start working out,” Louis says, reaching over to take a french fry off Liam’s tray. Liam swats him away, but he lets him have the fry all the same.

“Yes,” Liam acknowledges. “But I want the rest of you to help me. At the rate I’m going, I’m gonna need new clothes at Thanksgiving, and my mum will probably kill me. I was a competitive swimmer in high school, and now look at me.”

Harry looks at him. The objective truth of the matter is that Liam is good looking, in a manly athletic sort of way. He’s put on a few pounds, sure, but they all have. The tater tots don’t come without calories, after all.

“Li, you already go running along the Charles River, like, three times a week,” Niall points out.

“Yeah, and I used to spend fifteen hours in the pool and another five lifting weights.”

“What’s the real problem, Liam?” Zayn asks, putting down his soup spoon to really look at him. Harry might be the peacemaker, but Zayn’s the one who can see below the surface and ask the right questions to get someone out of their head. That’s probably why he’s the journalism major of the bunch.

“There’s a girl,” Liam confesses, and he’s blushing as he says it. They all gasp, some more dramatically than others.

“Not a _girl_!” Louis squeals in mock horror. “But Liam, we’re supposed to stay away from those. Don’t you know they have cooties?” Liam gives him a punch in the arm, and while Louis dives toward Harry for protection, Harry secretly thinks he deserves it.

“So there’s a girl,” Harry repeats slowly. “What’s her name? How’d you meet?”

“Sophia Smith. Asked me for a pen in my communications class last week. Guys, you should’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous.”

“And what does that have to do with you going to the gym?” Louis teases.

Liam turns bright red. “I--I just want to get back in shape, that’s all. Think I might ask her to that Christmas dance, if I can get the balls to do it.”

“Little Liam, all grown up,” Niall says mockingly. “Isn’t that great, lads? Zayn?”

“Well, good for you,” Zayn says loudly, making them jump. He claps Liam on the back, and it’s a bit bro-y, or at least more so than usual for Zayn.

“Well, I should start running again,” Harry says into semi-awkward silence. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’re the best,” Liam says gratefully. “Do you lift?”

“ _Do you even lift, bro_?” Niall imitates, and Harry shakes his head in answer. He doesn’t, not really, stubborn bits of baby fat still clinging around his hips. He’s fairly in shape though, has nothing to complain about. Couldn’t hurt to get some muscle definition.

“Yeah, I’ll do it  You can teach me.”

“Guess if you’re both in, I’m in too,” Niall says. “What’s our plan?”

“Well first, I'm gonna stop eating French fries. And you should too, if we’re all in this together, and all that,” Liam says.

“Hey!” Harry interjects, beaming. “That reminds me. Is everyone cool with doing High School Musical as our costume?”

There’s a series of groans around the table. “Oi, what's wrong with a little good ole HSM?” Louis asks. “Thought for sure you'd be into it. I am.”

“Yeah, but you have to like anything Harry does. It's like, the best friend rule,” Niall says with a roll of his eyes.

Louis and Harry lock eyes, and they both beam. Best friend, Niall had said. They’re best friends. It feels better to hear someone else say it; makes it a real thing. They _are_ best friends, and everyone knows it.

“Absolutely not,” Zayn snaps. He’s been silent up until now, a frown on his face since Liam’s announcement.

“Keep looking, Harry. We’re definitely not doing High School Musical,” Niall says, and that’s the end of it.

*

“I can’t believe you make us pay a cover to a party at your own goddamn frat,” Louis grumbles that weekend as he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “A party that you’re _forcing_ us to come to.”

“Sorry, Lou. No friends and family discount for pledges, nothing I can do. Five dollars please,” Niall repeats, hand outstretched.

Louis slaps the money onto his waiting palm and pushes past him, ruffling Niall’s hair as he goes. Harry pays his cover fee as well and joins the others in the entrance of the frat.

“Shall we?” Louis asks, and then they enter the party, the mass of people just trying to have fun and unwind. It’s a little less crowded than the last few parties that Harry’s been to, probably because this one is invite-only. They’re on the guest list though, thanks to Niall.

Louis and Liam offer to get the drinks, so Harry and Zayn hang back, pressed tight against the wall as they talk about Niall’s frat. Harry’s glad he didn’t join after all; he wouldn’t have survived half the hazing that Niall has had to do.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” a girl says from behind them. Harry turns to see a short blonde girl with intense makeup standing behind them. She’s staring at Zayn, eyes wide. “I just wondered -- do I know you from somewhere?”

“Maybe,” Zayn says. “What’s your major?”

“Nursing,” the girl admits with a shy smile. Harry has to give her props for trying to flirt; Zayn _is_ intimidatingly gorgeous. Plus there’s the accent, so much stronger than Harry’s and always turning heads.

“No, I don’t think so.” Zayn’s watching her blankly, and Harry isn’t even sure that Zayn knows she’s hitting on him.

“Can I grab you a drink anyway?” the girl asks eagerly.

“That’s okay, my friend’s getting one for me. Thanks though.”

Her face falls. “Oh, okay. Well, hope you have a good night,” she says quickly before she walks away.

“Well, that was...weird,” Zayn says, craning his neck to see if the others are coming back soon.

“Zayn, mate, she was flirting with you,” Harry says, clapping his hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Did you honestly not know?”

Zayn blinks three times, comically slow. “You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“Well, I’m an idiot then.”

“What’s Zaynie done now?” Louis asks from behind him, and Zayn pouts.

“Yeah, what’ve you done this time, Zayn?” Liam asks. Harry fills them in on what they missed as Louis passes him a drink, and they laugh at Zayn’s obliviousness, constantly on display.

The party is better than the past few that Harry’s gone to, half because he’s used to them now and half because Louis is there. He _always_ has more fun when Louis is there, never laughs as hard or feels as light hearted without him.

They pregamed in Niall and Harry’s dorm room before they left, so Harry’s pretty woozy after two drinks. Louis, though, is far worse, absolutely hammered, drunker than Harry’s ever seen him.

“Ah, I looohve you lads, you know that?” He’s slurring his words, sounding so Yorkshire as he hangs off Harry and Niall, who’s been relieved of door duties. “Lohve -- looohve you so much, never had friends like you before.”

Harry knows what he means; has never had a group of friends like these four before. He’s never felt as safe and secure as he does with them. _Especially_ with Louis. Niall shakes his head and mumbles something about going to get another drink, which gives Louis room to wrap his other arm around Harry’s neck, so he’s hanging off him like a child.

“I love you,” Louis mumbles into his ear. “I just need you to know that. You’re my -- my best friend. Best one I ever had.” His words are slow and purposeful, despite the alcohol.

“Love you too,” Harry says, pressing a sloppy kiss to Louis’ temple.

He _does_ love Louis, loves him differently than he’s ever loved anyone before. But he’s mostly given up on his crush on him, deciding that Louis is way too important to him to ever risk letting him go.

Louis looks up at Harry and there’s something in his facial expression that makes Harry’s heart race, something beyond the alcohol. “Harry,” he says, and for some reason Harry gets the feeling that whatever he’s about to say is monumental, life changing. And then a drunk fraternity brother spills a drink all over Louis’ shoes, so he never gets to hear it.

The party really gets wild when a group of Niall’s fraternity brothers get on top of the beer pong table and start scream-singing the words to ‘I Will Survive’ very terribly. It’s the most entertaining thing that Harry’s seen all week, and he can’t help but sing along from his place on the floor.

Liam’s shouting the words next to him. They’re all drunk, all of them pressed together in the tight room, drinks sloshing out of cups onto the sticky floor. Louis is especially clingy tonight, has barely left Harry’s side since they arrived.

“I’m tired,” he whines after the frat brothers inevitably end their drunken singing by toppling off the table to the floor. “I want to go home.”

“Should we leave?” Harry asks, and he’s asking everyone in their group but it’s only Louis and Niall who answer with a resounding yes. As they head toward the door, Louis tugs at the hem of Harry’s shirt like a child trying to get Harry’s attention. Harry slows for him to catch up, and when Louis slings an arm around his waist and looks up at him, his face bright and drunk, Harry has to swallow and look away.

Louis clings to him like a koala in the elevator, and Niall seems to think it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Harry tries to get Niall to leave them when the elevator stops at their floor, telling him he’s going to put Louis to bed, but Louis whines so much that they decide to just bring him to their room instead.

*

Harry startles awake to a clock that reads 3:23 am. He’s only been asleep for a twenty minutes, but it felt like twenty seconds. His throat is dry and he can’t quite make sense of things until a hand touches his again, soft and small and warm.

“Harry,” Louis whines next to his ear, “your floor is _really_ uncomfortable.” Some water and greasy food made him look a bit more alive, so much so that Harry was a little more confident that Louis was going to wake up in the morning and _not_ want to die. He and Niall had set up a little nest of pillows for him in between their beds, and made a great show of tucking him into it.

“Come on, get in,” Harry mutters, lifting the corner of his duvet so that Louis can crawl in. “But I have to be the little spoon.” Cuddling is inevitable, no matter how many times Louis would protest otherwise: Harry has a pile of evidence to support it, all the times they’ve fallen asleep while watching TV or trying to do homework.

“You’re a pain in the arse,” Louis grumbles, but he continues to crawl over Harry until he’s on the other side, tucked in between Harry and the wall. “Thanks, Harry,” he murmurs, already throwing his arm over Harry’s waist. “You’re a good best mate.”

Harry smiles, and he’s lulled back to sleep by the sound of Louis breathing in his ear.

*

“I think I need to get a job,” Harry says to Louis a few days later. They're in the student union, Harry's feet on Louis’ lap and his head thrown back in contentment as he receives a foot massage. It's probably a little weird, but neither of them care.

“A job? Why?”

“I’m sick of having no money, and I'm stressed about exams, and it's getting really expensive trying to bake all the time.”

Louis laughs, and Harry pouts at him. He’s _serious_. When he called his mum earlier in the day asking for her to send him some cash, she told him that she was paying for half his college tuition and that if he wanted more money, he’d have to get a job.

It’s not like he expects his mum to bankroll him for the rest of his life, but he and Louis went to the movies last weekend and he couldn’t even afford to buy _snacks,_ having to make do with stealing a few bites of Louis’ popcorn. He knows he’s incredibly fortunate to even be at college at all, but he also can’t keep going like this.

“Okay,” Louis says as he pushes Harry’s feet off his lap and stands up. “Let’s find you a job.” He walks away before Harry can say anything, and Harry’s not sure if Louis means for him to follow or stay back. He watches Louis march across the wide expanse of the student union lobby, stopping short when he comes to the open doorway of the student resources office. There’s a bulletin board posted outside, and after perusing it for a few minutes, hands on his hips, he rips off a pale blue piece of paper and starts walking back toward Harry.

“Found a job for us,” he says, waving the paper around as he sits back down on the couch.

“Us?” Harry asks, confusion evident. Louis has never mentioned getting a job before.

“Yeah, duh. Here, look at this.” He thrusts the paper at Harry, who flips it over and takes a look. **Are you personable? Do you love BU? Apply for a job at the Development Office! Flexible hours, great pay, unlimited snacks. Freshmen encouraged.**

“It’s perfect, right? Unlimited snacks _plus_ we’d get paid.” Louis picks at his cuticle, eyes trained on his fingernails.

Harry raises an eyebrow and pokes Louis’ thigh with his toe. “You really want to do this?”

“Yeah, why not? You just call people and ask them for money. Plus, with an accent like mine, don’t think it’ll be hard to get people to open their wallets,” he says cheekily.

Thirty minutes later, they walk out of the building with a packet of information and a standing shift on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

*

Harry hasn’t been apple picking since he was fifteen, but Louis insisted on following through on his promise to bring Harry. The others find out and insist on coming along, which actually works out in their favor because Niall’s able to borrow his dad’s car and drive them to the orchard. It’s about forty-five minute drive, and Niall puts on a Top 40 radio station as soon as they hit the road to keep Louis happy.

The apple picking is fun, but the best part is definitely the cider donuts at the end. They’re sitting on the ground, Niall and Zayn shoving donuts into their mouth, as Harry blows on his steaming apple cider to cool it down enough to drink. He’s got a big bag of apples by his side, and they’ve all got two or three additional apples settling in their stomachs.

Zayn had commented that they were really paying for the privilege of doing the farmers’ work for them (“This is considered a _fun_ fall activity?”) and hadn’t enjoyed it much, but the rest of them ignored the fact that Zayn had a point and were determined to enjoy the apple picking tradition anyway.

“We should get a pumpkin,” Liam tells the group. “Or, like, we should each get one. We can carve them later and decorate them for Halloween.”

It’s random shit like this that’s why Harry loves his friends so much; even if they complain a lot, they’re always up for a good adventure and making the most of whatever’s thrown their way.

Plus, he thinks as he reaches over for his second cider donut, they always eat really good food together.

*

Their first shift at work goes about as well as can be expected, which is to say that it's a complete and utter disaster.

Their boss is a woman named Janet, and Harry feels a bit bad for her; she's clearly getting more than she bargained for with the two of them. She shows them around the office, introducing them to the staff and other student callers, and then takes them through the training packet. On the surface, their job is pretty simple: call alumni and ask them if they'd like to donate money to the university. They watch her make the first call and then they practice on each other, the caller running through the script and the one acting as an alumni intent on being as annoying as possible.

They're in the middle of a particularly long laughing fit when Janet decides she's had enough. She puts Louis in a cubicle by the front door, next to the front desk assistant. Harry gets a spot by Janet’s office. Doesn't she know that Louis is the real troublemaker of the two? Clearly not.

Janet supervises as he makes his first call, and he stumbles through a monologue about how thrilled he is to be a student at the university and how valuable donations from alumni are to that experience. It’s pretty much all bullshit, but he doesn’t feel that bad about it because he _does_ love it here.

He gets a fifty dollar donation from a kind-sounding man from the class of ‘53, and then Janet leaves him to his own devices. He makes another three calls without interruption, one of them an answering machine, one who doesn’t want to give money, and one who says she’s feeding a screaming baby right now but will donate online.

He can hear Louis talking to Devin, one of the girls who works in the office. Harry can’t quite figure out what he’s saying, but she’s laughing and Harry thinks he’s probably pulling weird faces or being excessively flirty. Louis tends to have everyone wrapped around his little finger within a few minutes of meeting them. Harry knows exactly what that feels like.

He’s about to dial the next number when Louis creeps up behind him. “Hazza,” he says. “Let’s go get a snack.”

Janet did tell them that they could have snacks whenever they got hungry, and it _is_ almost dinner time. The look on Louis’ face means trouble, though, and Harry knows he’s not going to be grabbing a bag of chips and going back to his desk.

He looks over at Janet’s office; the door is closed and he can hear her talking on the phone. “Let me make two more calls and then we can go,” he tries. Louis thinks for a moment, then sits down on the little stool in Harry’s cubicle.

Harry makes his first call without incident. The second one is a bit more difficult. He tries to hold a conversation with a woman in California, but it’s difficult when Louis is tapping out a beat on his knees with his palms and making funny faces every five seconds to distract him.

“Thank you so much for your donation, we really appreciate it,” he says, and he barely has time to hang up before Louis pulls him by the hand to the kitchen. Louis starts rifling through the fridge, grabbing Gatorades and two ice cream cookie sandwiches.

“Lou, have you even called anyone yet?”

“I’ve called, like, three people. Here, hold this,” he orders, handing Harry a bag of chips and a bottle of water. He continues to rifle through the cabinets.

“Lou, I don’t think we’re supposed to steal all the food,” Harry tries, but it’s no use. He sighs and tucks the food under his arm. Louis is a master at avoidance; if he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll find three thousand ways to get out of doing it.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry coaxes, “back to work.”

He has to drag Louis back to his seat (“Stop it, you’re crushing the crisps!”) but finally he gets Louis seated and on the phone. Janet watches the scene from her office and she may look amused, but Harry can tell she’s getting annoyed. He makes a point to stay in his seat and call as many people as he can after that; Louis might not need this job, but he does.

It’s not a riveting job by any means, but he’s always been good at making small talk and coaxing people into giving him what he wants. Now he’s finally getting paid for it.

There’s an hour left in their shift when Janet calls for Louis to come to her office. Harry can’t hear her, but she sounds serious. Louis comes to his cubicle afterward, a sneaky look on his face.

“What happened?”

“The phone had a little sticker on it that said do not dial nine,” Louis says with a grin, and Harry already can tell what’s coming, “so I dialed nine.”

Of course he did.

*

Jade’s absent from painting class the day they have their midterm review. It’s not like her to miss a class, especially not one so close to an exam, and he shoots Perrie a quick text asking if she’s heard from her.

He spends most of the class switching between wondering where she is, and taking copious, detailed notes on everything the professor talks about so that he can share them with her.

When he leaves class, he gets a message from Jade that she’s fine, that her boyfriend came to visit her from home as a surprise. The same boyfriend that she was worried was going to leave her at the beginning of the year. Harry lets her know he has notes she can borrow, hoping the surprise visit is a good one.

He’s meeting Louis for lunch, and he wraps his coat around himself as a shield from the drizzle outside. He loves fall, but he could do without the rain and wind that comes with it.

It’s a ten minute walk and two city blocks from the art building to Pita Pit, where he finds Louis sitting at a table in the corner, his back hunched as he looks over the notes spread out in front of him.

“Planning on moving in?” Harry asks with a smile.

At Harry’s greeting, Louis’ entire posture changes, his shoulders relaxing from where they've been held nearly at his ears. “Harry. Hi,” he breathes.

“You okay?” Harry slides into the seat across from Louis, not daring to touch any of the papers. He’s made that mistake before; Louis has an organizational system that no one can figure out. It might be nonsensical, but anyone who tries to mess with it should expect to get their hand chopped off.

Louis heaves a heavy sigh, and when he makes eye contact with Harry again he looks a little broken. “No, not really. I kind of, um.” He bites his lip and looks down at the sea of papers. “I kind of have no clue what's on this exam.”

“What do you mean, you have no clue?”

Louis sighs again, exasperated. “I've been so busy with classes and planning the Habitat for Humanity trip and work and doing homework and working out with Liam and rehearsing for the play and getting enough sleep and _trying_ to have fun--”

“Jesus, Lou.”

“That I haven’t really been paying attention in class... I think I just need a break from it all,” Louis says, dropping his face into his hands. “I wish I could pause time and just take a nap and not have to worry about all the things hanging over my head. I barely get any sleep and I have so much work and I can’t let go of any of it.”

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” He _has_ seemed more tired than usual lately, but Harry hadn’t thought much of it. They’re _all_ tired.

“My roommate’s girlfriend is always over and it’s impossible to sleep when the two of them are trying to fuck six feet away.” Harry shudders. He’s met Louis’ roommate exactly one time, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “Yeah, exactly. So I usually go to the lounge and try to do homework, but it’s always busy there and hard to concentrate.”

“Why don’t you just come to my room?” Harry blinks at him, feeling like the solution here is obvious. The two of them are _best friends_ ; why wouldn’t Louis call him when that stuff happens?

“You’re so busy all the time,” Louis explains dramatically. Harry supposes he _is_ pretty busy; he’s been spending a lot of time in the art studio working on drafts of his final painting, or at the gym, or getting lunch with one of his friends from photography club, or studying for exams. But he always has time for Louis; even if they’re just sitting together and studying, he always has more fun when Louis is around.

“You can call me, okay? I’m still here. I’m always around. You can sleep over whenever,” Harry promises, thinking of the last time Louis slept over. It was after the frat party, and he’d woken up to Louis’ morning erection poking him in the back. He tries not to think too much about that morning since, well, once he’s thinking about it he can’t seem to _stop_ thinking about it. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, lips quirked up in a smile. He knows it, of course he does, but Harry knows he likes hearing it anyway. “Well, you’re mine too.”

“Dream Team.”

“Dream Team,” Louis repeats, and he gives a genuine smile for the first time since Harry arrived.

*

They end up dressing as The Wizard of Oz characters for Halloween. It was Liam’s idea that won out in the end, mainly because there were three days until Halloween and every other idea had been vetoed. When Zayn decided that he could wrap his arms in aluminum foil to be the tin man, that had settled it. Harry is still a little bitter; he’d spent hours on Pinterest searching for ideas, but no one else wanted to be people from Breaking Bad or Care Bears or Minions (except Zayn).

A world of great ideas, and they’re doing The Wizard of Oz. Maybe Harry needs some more creative friends.

At least he only had to buy a straw hat for his scarecrow costume; he’s got plenty of flannel shirts and Louis was able to snag him a pair of overalls from the drama department. Liam makes a cute lion, Zayn’s happy as a clam with his tinfoil arms, and then the pièce de résistance: this whole thing was worth it just for the image of Niall in a Dorothy dress.

“This is ridiculous,” he complains as he tugs at the gingham dress, fake braids flopping along. “I’m going to freeze and my balls are going to fall off.” He’s wearing athletic shorts underneath, so Harry somehow doubts that will happen, but still, it can’t be very comfortable. There’s a storm outside so strong it’s threatening to knock down some of the power lines; wind and rain and sleet in bare legs isn’t Harry’s idea of comfort.

“Now you know how girls feel on Halloween when they’re expected to dress up like that!” Perrie says from the doorway. She and her roommates are dressed in cozy black outfits, rather than the typical barely-there costumes favored by most of the girls on their floor.

“We decided to be ninjas,” Jade says with a shrug. “None of us are really in the mood for _actually_ impressing anyone, but this way we get to wear black yoga pants and be done with it.”

Harry gives her a tight hug, and she nuzzles close, small in his arms. It turns out that her suspicions about her boyfriend had been right the whole time, but she didn’t _know_ until he suggested that they use a condom because he wasn’t sure he was totally clean. She’d kicked him out of her dorm immediately and then called Harry, crying.

It’s been a few days since then and she seems to be doing a bit better, but from watching his friends go through it, he knows how hard it is to end things with someone you’ve been seeing for a long time. It’s weird to watch friends at college break up with their high school significant others and pair off with new people; he sees it everywhere, breakups and new relationships and people figuring out what they want. All it does is make him think about how he’s still in the same place he was when he left.

He’s talked to a few cute guys at frat parties and in the dining hall and in his classes, but none of them have captured his attention for long. He’d always, _always_ rather hang out with Louis. That probably means something, but he’s trying to ignore it.

There’s been fifteen minutes and two rounds of shots by the time that Louis shows up. “Sorry I’m late, I had some issues with my costume.”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Perrie’s roommate Leigh Anne asks, and immediately clasps her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was rude. But what are you?”

“He’s the wizard,” Harry says.

“Which… which wizard?” Leigh Anne asks.

Harry laughs. “You know,” he says, gesturing to their costumes. “Of Oz. The Wizard of Oz. That wizard.”

Louis is dressed in all green, a mismatched suit jacket and pants purchased at a thrift store. Everyone wanted him to be Toto, Harry had even begged him, but Louis said there was “no way in fucking hell” he was ever going to dress up as a tiny dog, so they should all shut up.

“But you are pretty tiny,” Harry had pointed out, but all that got him was a punch to the dick.

They have two more rounds of shots -- some jello creation that Zayn and Liam made the night before -- and pose for a few pictures before they head out. Harry doesn’t get a chance to talk to Louis, but he follows him into the packed elevator and suddenly finds the two of them pressed close.

“Hi,” Louis slurs with a drunken smile, and Harry’s about to respond when the elevator shakes to a halt. There’s a loud series of screams and everything goes dark.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” Niall croaks, and Harry suddenly remembers that he’s claustrophobic and that he tries to avoid the elevator at all costs, just in case there’s a situation just like this.

“It’s okay, I stuck my arm out in just in time made sure that the door didn’t close,” Liam says to placate everyone, and Harry stretches onto his tiptoes to see the hallway light still visible through the half-open elevator door. “Is everybody safe?”

They like to make jokes about how Liam is the biggest dad of them all, but right now, Harry’s never been more grateful for it.

It’s not until they all squeeze out of the elevator and are on solid ground once again that Harry realizes Louis had clutched onto his hand and refused to let go.

*

Harry wakes to the sound of his phone ringing on Friday night. He made the decision to stay in and study for Monday’s exam, and an early night in bed had sounded perfect, especially since he had the room to himself. He looks over at Niall’s bed, which is empty; Niall’s been spending more and more time out of the room lately, busy with fraternity things and Tinder dates and whatever else he does on campus. Harry misses him; the few times they’ve seen each other lately it’s been in the context of the hanging out with the full group or passing like ships in the night, one of them coming back to the room just as the other leaves.

But the phone call takes priority. Harry slides his finger along the screen to answer the call, eyes squinting in the dark room enough to see that it’s Louis.

“H’lo?” He slurs. There’s no answer. “H’lo? Louis? Y’okay?”

There’s a sniffle and a cough and a quiet, watery-sounding, “Uh, no, not really.”

“What’s wrong, Lou? Are you safe?” Harry sits up and feels around for the light, flicking it on once he’s found it. The duvet pools around his waist as he stretches an arm in the air, trying to wake up.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m safe. I’m sitting in the lobby of McDonough. I just… can you come meet me? I had a really shitty night and I could use a friend.” He sniffles again. “Could use you,” he corrects.

Harry’s up and slipping on some sweatpants and shoes before Louis can say another word. He grabs a sweatshirt and keeps Louis on the line, telling him he’ll be there in five minutes. The city feels like a hub of activity tonight as he steps onto the street, and he wonders if there was a late Red Sox game tonight. Niall would know. But right now, he's thinking about getting to Louis.

Harry finds him sitting on a bench in the lobby of McDonough dining hall, knees curled up to his chest. He’s using the too-big sleeve of his sweater to wipe his sniffly nose, and his eyes are red from crying.  Harry’s heart breaks a bit at the sight.

When he spots Harry, Louis wipes his eyes and drops his feet to the floor. “Thanks for coming,” he says quietly, and his voice is raspy. He goes to stand up but Harry puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping him there, and sits down next to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Louis curls into it, burying his face in Harry’s chest. He runs his hand up and down Louis’ back, trying to calm him. Outside on the quad, he can hear a group of people singing with joy.

“You wanna get some ice cream?”

A shadow of a smile crosses Louis’ face at the suggestion. “Yes, absolutely.”

Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders as they cross the lobby and enter the all-hours convenience store. He grabs two pints of Ben & Jerry’s (Half Baked for himself and Brownie Mint Chocolate Chip for Louis) and leads a trailing Louis to the cash register.

Grabbing two spoons on the way out, he turns to look for Louis and finds him right there in his space, clutching at Harry’s upper arm. Harry knows the best way to deal with a Louis in crisis is to get him to talk, but he's really starting to get worried now. He _looks_ okay, if not a little bit broken, but it's hard to say what's wrong.

“Can we… outside?” Louis asks with a tilt of his head. It's the first week of November and Harry can see his breath in the frozen air, but he isn't going to be the one to deny Louis what he wants.

They settle on the curb in the quad and dig into their ice cream in silence. Louis’ left side is pressed up against Harry’s right, and it would take the slightest of movements for Harry to lean his head down onto Louis’ shoulder. Even in the cold of the night, Louis is radiating warmth. Harry wishes this situation wasn't because of something going wrong, because he feels the most comfortable he's been all week.

It takes a few minutes and about ten scoops of ice cream each, but finally Louis speaks.

“I went on a date tonight.”

Harry fights to keep his expression neutral, tries not to think _who was it_ and _I’ll punch him for making you cry_ and _why don't you just go out on a date with me instead_. He stays silent and waits for Louis to keep talking.

“It was Kyle, that guy from my American Family class. He kept flirting with me and asking me out, and finally I said yes. We went to Chipotle, which is a bit of a joke for a first date but also what do I care, it's not like I need anything fancy.” As he talks, he’s trying to balance his spoon on the open top of his ice cream and Harry is trying not to boil over with rage. “He asked me back to his place to watch a film and when we got there, he…he tried to force me to have sex with him.”

In the silence that follows Harry fumbles blindly for Louis’ hand; despite his hand being mostly numb from the cold air and the ice cream, he’s never felt anyone squeeze his hand so tight.

“I didn't, I managed to get my trousers back on and get out before he could really do anything, but I was really scared.”

He inhales sharply. “Lou.”

“I think I’m okay though? Like, nothing really happened between us. We kissed a bit. Just turns out that he’s a major dick who was only in it for one thing.”

Harry wants to go up to Kyle and shake him upside down until he realizes how special Louis is. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, trying to resist the urge to go do just that. “I’m, _fuck._ I’m sorry. That you had to… _Jesus._ ”

“Not so bad,” Louis says quietly. “I’m okay.”

“I want to kill him.”

“I’m okay,” Louis repeats.

Harry clenches his fists, squeezes them, and then releases. “Shit, Lou. That’s… that’s shit.”

“I know.” Louis says as he drops his head to Harry’s shoulder. Harry twists to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “I just didn't know what to do, so I called you and...here you are.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Harry grits out again. “It's-- it’s gonna be okay. Lou, I. I promise.”

Louis turns his head to look at him and his lips are just inches away from Harry’s, as pink as Harry has ever seen them. He should be cold, sitting here on the curb in the November night with frozen ice cream in his hand. With Louis beside him and despite the anger still bubbling his stomach on Louis’ behalf, all he feels is warmth.

“Hey,” he says, trying to break the tense quiet. “Did I ever tell you about my worst date ever? It was my second week here, and we’re at the restaurant waiting to be seated, and he starts talking about this time that he was tripping acid and had to call his mum for help to get out of it. Needless to say, there was no second date.”

“Oh my God,” Louis says with a laugh, the first time Harry’s heard it all night. It’s weaker than usual, but hey, it's a start.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, and it seems they've both decided to go for it and finish off all the ice cream. Harry’s very in support of this -- his mum always did say some ice cream and a good chat could make things seem a little less dire.

“Do you believe in love?” It's an abrupt question, and Harry startles at the sound of Louis’ voice before turning to look at him. He’s trying to balance his spoon on his nose, and the action belies the serious tone of his question. “You know, like, as a concept.”

Harry takes a minute to think about it, but there's not much thinking required. Of course he believes in love. Doesn't he love his mum, and his sister Gemma, and his stepdad, and his friends, and didn't he think he loved that boy he took to junior prom? Doesn't he love _Louis_?

“Yeah, of course I do. Do you?”

“I think so. I mean, yeah. It just all seems so scary sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Louis looks uncharacteristically quiet before he answers. He's normally a go-go-go bundle of energy, but everything tonight seems to have made him placid and tired.

“Like, you fall in love with someone. You start dating and...you kind of lose yourself a little bit, don't you?”

“I don't think so. Not necessarily. I think love can make you better, stronger. I think it’s scary to share yourself with someone else, all of you, the parts you don’t like _and_ the parts you do. But I think when it’s good, _really_ good, it’s worth it. I really think it is.”

Louis is quiet for a few minutes, contemplating it. He’s stopped trying to balance his spoon on his nose by now. “I think there's different kinds of love. Like you love your best friends differently than you love your mum, but it’s still love.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees softly, because it’s true. “Love is all around, Lou. It’s just waiting to swoop in and fill you all the way to the top.”

Louis smiles at that, and then drops his head to Harry’s shoulder again. Harry sets the ice cream down on the curb and hugs him close.

“Love you, Lou. You deserve only the best, okay? It’s out there, it’s coming. I swear it.”

Louis nods, and Harry hopes that he actually believes it.

“You too, Harry. You deserve the best too.”

With Louis pressed close, he tries to stamp down the familiar ache, one that’s screaming _I’m right here, I love you the way you deserve to be loved, I wish you loved me back._

*

November passes before Harry even has time to think about it, and all of a sudden it's Tuesday afternoon of Thanksgiving week and his mum is on her way to pick him up.

“Sorry I’m late, I had a last minute meeting,” Louis says as he rushes into the room, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and his backpack on his back. “Where’s your mum?”

Oh, and Louis, his mum is picking Louis up too. Because Louis is coming to his house in New York for Thanksgiving. It's a bit weird to think about Louis hanging out in his kitchen, Louis on his living room sofa, Louis sleeping on the floor of his childhood bedroom. Not a bad weird, just the merging of his two lives in a way he's never thought about before.

Harry grins wickedly. “She's not coming for another half hour. I knew you'd be late, so I told you to come an hour earlier than she's actually getting here.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “You're a twat, Styles.”

Harry just laughs. “No, this is perfect, now you can help me figure out which outfit I should wear to the football game tomorrow.”

“We're going to a football game?” Louis says, eyes wide with excitement.

“American football,” Harry amends, grinning deeper at the way Louis’ face falls. “My high school football game. Thanksgiving tradition.”

“You’re not even American, why are you celebrating Thanksgiving?”

“It's my stepdad’s favorite holiday. Plus it's fun, you can eat as much as you want and then be lazy all day. You'll love it. Now, come on, which shirt?” He holds up two shirts that are virtually identical, save for the colors on the plaid.

“The one on the left.”

Harry watches Louis under his eyelashes as he flops onto Harry’s bed and rifles through the snack drawer while Harry finishes packing. It's been a few weeks since the incident with Kyle, and Louis has been even more clingy than usual. Harry’s not complaining, is happy to have Louis hang all over him and kiss him on the cheek before running away to pull whatever prank he and Liam have planned next. Louis seems fine, but Harry can’t help but worry a tiny bit all the same.

When his mum calls to say that she’s outside double parked on a side street and they better hurry before she gets a ticket, he grabs his bag and tells Louis to hurry up.

“I can’t believe I’m going to your house,” Louis says. Harry can’t believe it either.

Seeing his mum for the first time since late August is like the crest of a wave crashing on the sand. This is the longest he’s ever gone without her warm hugs and her soft reassurances, and his life is lesser without them. But he’s back now, back in her arms, and she’s standing by the car door and hugging him tight and he’s hugging her back. His overnight bag drops off his shoulder and swings between them, but he keeps squeezing her close.

“I missed you so much,” they both cry at the same time, and that’s when they break away, laughing. She presses a kiss against his forehead, her soft lips repeating a ritual they’ve had since he was a little boy.

He turns and sees Louis sanding on the curb, looking a bit uncertain. Harry pulls away and tilts his head for Louis to come closer. “Mum, this is Louis, my best friend.”

Louis looks greets her and looks inordinately pleased as Anne shakes his hand. “Lovely to meet you, Louis. We’re so excited to have you stay with us. I’ve heard so much about you.” Harry blushes. “Now come on, I’ve been parked here for ages, you boys took forever,” she teases as they all slip into the car. They throw their duffle bags into the boot and drive away, leaving the city behind them.

“So, Louis, Harry was telling me you’re from Doncaster?”

It’s a five hour drive and Louis spends most of it absolutely charming the pants off Anne. It’s no surprise; Harry knew his mum was going to love him from the first moment they spoke. Louis has a way of wrapping people around his little finger, which is probably why he and Harry get along so well.

He watches the signs go by on the highway, exits leading to places he’s never heard of, and absently wonders if he’ll ever get to visit them. You can’t visit everywhere in the world, unfortunately. It’d be cool if you could.

“I’m so glad Harry has you, Louis,” Anne is saying when Harry tunes back into the conversation. “From everything I've heard, you boys are really good for each other. And the others too, Zayn, Niall, Liam. It’s like you’ve found a little family.”

Harry looks back at Louis, sitting in the passenger seat behind Anne, and they share a big grin.

*

It’s dark when they pull into Harry’s driveway in Westchester, the car wheels rolling over the gravel stones. It sounds like returning from long road trips and waking up to find the car parked in the driveway even though he could swear he’d just closed his eyes, like surviving his first car ride by himself, like coming home.

He opens his car door and gets out while Louis and his mum do the same. He takes a moment to just stare up at the house that was his home for the past eight years before he moved to Boston. It’s beautiful, big and sprawling, black shutters on a white house and a wraparound porch.

“Home sweet home,” Anne says.

It never occurs to him that maybe he should feel a little embarrassed about the house until he looks over at Louis, who’s standing by his side, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. The house can be a lot, and he almost feels like he should apologize for it.

Almost.

“Alright boys, let’s go. Robin said he’d cook burgers for you, alright? I’m sure you’re both looking forward to some home-cooked food after all that dining hall junk.”

“As if,” Harry says as they follow her up the stone pathway to the side entrance. “That stuff is delicious. In fact, if I didn’t miss you guys so much I’d probably never come home at all.” She tuts at him while they drop their bags in the mud room and go into the kitchen.

Robin’s standing in the kitchen, his back facing them as he cuts something on a chopping board. He’s making a salad, Harry realizes with a start, the tomatoes and cucumber piled to the side. That used to be _his_ job. It’s not like he didn’t expect things to change when he left, obviously, but it’s still weird to see.

“Hi boys,” he greets, and then Harry’s hurrying over to him to give him a big hug. Never mind that Robin still has the sharp knife in his hand, never mind that Harry spoke to him on Skype yesterday, he just misses him. They hug, the embrace long and tight, and Harry is suddenly overwhelmed by _home._

*

His mum sets up an air mattress for Louis on Harry’s bedroom floor, and after she says goodnight, Louis spends a full ten minutes talking about how cool his mum and Robin were, and how his room was maybe the sickest thing he’d ever seen, and _why didn’t you tell me you had a hot tub, Hazza, I would’ve brought my swim trunks_.

They stay up talking so late and laughing so hard that his mum has to come in and tell them to be quiet. That hasn’t happened since Harry was fourteen years old and having a sleepover with some of his friends from school.

Louis makes a dumb joke that sets them off into another round of loud giggles, and then when his mum returns and threatens to have Harry sleep in the garage, they finally shut up.

“Thanks for inviting me, Hazza,” Louis says softly. As if he wouldn’t have. As if there was any other option.

“Any time, Lou. I mean it.”

*

Gemma takes the train in from the city the next morning, and after last night’s troublemaking, Louis and Harry are sent to pick her up.

“I’m a bit nervous to let you have my car,” Anne admit, keys dangling just above Harry’s outstretched palm. “You haven’t driven in months.”

“Stop it, Mum, we’ll be fine. Stop worrying.” He rolls his eyes. Honestly.

“I’m your mum, Harry. It’s my job to worry.”

Harry snatches the keys out of her hand and tosses them to Louis, and the two of them run out the door, cackling maniacally. _Dream Team_.

It’s a short drive to the train station, and it’s not until Gemma’s actually in the car, sliding into the backseat and greeting Louis, that Harry gets worried about the two of them meeting. Like, maybe he shouldn’t be introducing them.

“You sure you’re okay to drive, Harry? I know you haven’t in ages, you’re probably a bit rusty,” she teases.

“Oh, he’s awful. Had no idea what I was getting into. Actually, is there any way I can get a taxi back to your house?” Louis asks dramatically. “Worried we’ll crash into a tree or something on the way back. Or worse, get lost. No sense of direction, this boy.”

“I think I like you, Louis,” Gemma says. Harry pouts. His sister and his best friend aren’t supposed to get along so well. “Oh, Harry, stop it. I’m just trying to get to know your friend. Don’t you want us to be friends?”

“Not if you’re just going to make fun of me the whole time,” Harry says, pouting as he turns around and backs out of the parking lot. Gemma’s wearing a blue Columbia University Journalism sweatshirt, and she’s dyed her hair back to blonde. She looks different every time he sees her -- thank god for her daily Snapchat selfies, otherwise he might not have recognized her.

“It just so happens that the one thing that Louis and I are guaranteed to have in common is our ability to tease you, so I’m going to use that to bond with him,” Gemma says, and Louis reaches out for a fist bump.

“It’s all done in love,” Louis says as he pinches Harry’s cheek.

*

Anne goes off to the grocery store almost as soon as they get back with the car, much to Gemma’s irritation (“She cooks you a full dinner when you're back and disappears the second I get home, Harry, do you still want to have a conversation about who’s the favorite child?”) so they settle in on the couches in the living room with some popcorn to watch some shitty Lifetime movie, exactly the kind of film that he and Gemma love to make fun of.

It’s even worse than usual, so after the first fifteen minutes he and Louis end up talking over the whole thing. Gemma keeps trying to shush them or at least separate them, but eventually she gives up and just watches their conversation with a funny little smile on her face.

“Stop, get your dirty feet off my socks, this is the only pair I have,” Louis grumbles as Harry shifts on the couch so that they're sitting on opposite sides, legs outstretched toward the middle.

“You only brought one pair of socks?” Harry raises an eyebrow. It's Wednesday, and they're not going back to school until Sunday. “What were you planning on wearing?”

Louis shrugs. “Steal some of yours, I guess. Wouldn't be the first time.”

“I hate you,” Harry grumbles as he crosses his arms in mock annoyance. Louis sits up and reaches over to pinch his cheek again.

“You don't, you love me,” Louis coos, trying to squirm and get away from Harry, who has started tickling him. He ends up falling on top of Harry, who makes a big show of pushing him off even though he's not very heavy.

“Think I might just stay here,” Louis says from his position between Harry and the back of the couch. He perches his chin on Harry’s shoulder so he can see better. He’s pressed all along Harry’s back, warm and solid. “More comfortable.”

Harry can feel Gemma watching them, and he doesn’t try to explain. She wouldn’t understand anyway.

*

“So what’s the story between the two of you?” Gemma asks as she passes Harry a dishtowel. The five of them have just finished dinner, and they’re standing in front of the kitchen sink with Gemma washing and him preparing to dry. It’s been that way since they were seven and ten: lots of things have changed, but at least some haven’t.

“Between me and who?” Harry asks, striving for innocence in his tone. But they both know exactly who she’s talking about.

Gemma sighs. “Louis, obviously. Don’t be daft.” She passes him the first plate. He’s quiet for a minute, listening for footsteps. Louis is upstairs in the office Skyping his family, and he has a million chatty siblings so he’ll tied up for a while. It’s probably safe. “Are you two a _thing_?”

Harry doesn’t know if wants to punch or hug Gemma when she raises her eyebrows suspiciously.

“We’re best friends, Gem,” Harry says finally, placing the plate in the drying rack even though it’s already dry. “Just best friends.”

“But you want to be more.” She’s stopped washing, watching Harry instead. Her hands are probably growing pruney under the water.

“He’s not interested,” Harry says with a sigh, nudging her to continue. He’s never talked about his crush on Louis out loud, and he’s not interested in starting now. The two of them are best friends, and they’re always there for each other. Louis is always going to be able to come crying to Harry when he’s had a bad day or a bad date or something’s gone wrong, and Harry will always have that in Louis. And then one day, Louis will find someone who loves him just as he deserves, and Harry will be the most supportive best friend in the world. And that’s enough.

“Harry,” Gemma says, and she pulls her hand out of the water and puts it on her hip. She’s glaring at him now, and it’s a formidable sight, one he’s tried to avoid his whole life. He watches the water soak through her sweatshirt, watches droplets fall onto the hardwood floor, tries not to think about the rapid beating of his heart. “You can’t possibly think that’s the case.”

But it is, it _is_ the case. That’s just how it is.

“It is, Gem. It’s alright. I’ll get over it.” She glares at him again. “What, Gemma?” He’s exasperated now, doesn't want to talk about this.

“Harry, he _likes_ you.”

“Gemma, he doesn’t. If he did, he would’ve done something about it now.”

“Don’t you think that he could feel the exact same way about you? How do you know he isn’t thinking the same thing?”

“He’s gone on _dates_ , Gem. It’s not like he’s sitting around waiting for me.” _Not like how I’m sitting around waiting for him_ , he doesn’t say.

“Harry…” She’s resumed washing by now, is passing him another plate, but her face is determined. “We were watching that movie, and the way he looked at you. It’s like…” She trails off, and she’s looking out the window, the weak winter sunlight streaming in on her face. “It’s like he thinks you’re magic.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, can feel the pulsing of his heart behind his ears, in his chest, along his fingertips. Gemma looks deadly serious, and they joke around incessantly, but not about this. Not about something this serious.

“I think you should do something about it, Harry. It’s not just you.”

“Okay, Gems,” he says quietly, picking up the plate and going over it with the dishtowel for the fifth time. It’s a clear end to the discussion. “Okay.”

She goes back to the dishes and they’re quiet for a minute before she brings up the drama he’s missed with their neighbor, an innocuous thread of conversation he doesn’t have to think too hard about.

*

Since the very first day they met, Harry has always been trying to make Louis do that crinkly-eyed smiley that made his stomach swoopy. He’s generally successful, but it’s so much _easier_ to accomplish here, away from the stress of exams and play rehearsals and shitty roommates and other friends.

He spends a lot of time with Louis at school, but he’s never had his attention one-on-one for quite this long before. He feels a little blown away by the intensity of it, at Louis’s warm hand on his hip as he teaches him soccer drills in the backyard, at him loudly teasing Harry with the rest of his family when he says something dumb, at the way he asks Harry multiple times if he’s sure he doesn’t want to go out and see his friends from high school.

It doesn’t help that now after his conversation with Gemma he’s second-guessing everything Louis does. Harry’s never had to be so _careful_ before, has never had to worry if he’s standing too close to Louis or looking at him for too long or laughing too hard at one of his jokes. He’s never had to think about it this much.

This is why he doesn’t want to do anything about it, because being best friends with Louis is better than having to tiptoe around him and consider the weight of every single one of his interactions. It’s so much _easier_ that way.

It doesn’t feel easy now.

“I thought you hated pecans,” Louis says as he cracks an egg into a bowl. “Why are we making pecan pie?”

“I do, but my mum forces me to make this every year because _she_ likes it, and she says I make the best kind. Easier to just do what she wants. Anyway, come on, hurry up with the eggs. Need them today, not for Christmas.”

Louis sticks his tongue out at him and crosses his eyes, and it’s the face he makes whenever he wants to be marginally annoying. But now, thanks to Gemma, he can’t help wonder if it means something more. Still, he cracks another egg into the bowl and then slides it across the counter to Harry.

There’s music playing as they work, the James Bay album that Louis likes, and Harry’s grateful for it because it means that he’s not obligated to fill the silence. He sprinkles a pinch of flour onto the kitchen island and rolls out the dough on top of it. Louis hoists himself up onto the counter and without looking, Harry can feel his eyes on him. He concentrates on fitting the dough into the pan, pressing it against the sides and pricking it with a fork.

“You seem so much more comfortable here than in the dorm kitchen,” Louis observes. “I mean obviously, because this is your home. But just, like, it’s different. You move differently, like you know the space better.”

Harry can feel his face heat up at the fact that Louis is watching him, noticing, possibly cataloging all his movements like he’s done so many times while watching Louis. Louis has kept him company while he bakes so many times, but it’s never felt quite like this.

“I feel more in control here,” Harry admits. “Feel more like I know what I’m doing.” He pauses, and then shatters the silence that’s fallen between them by picking up the pie dish and smiling brightly. “Okay, this just has to go in the fridge for a bit and we can get started on the rest of the ingredients.”

“You okay?” Louis asks as Harry passes, trying in vain not to look like he’s avoiding Louis’ gaze. Louis kicks out his socked foot to stop Harry from getting to the fridge. Harry looks at him, and he swallows hard when he realizes that Louis’ eyes are level with his, that if he just leaned in right now he could kiss him without any effort at all.

“I’m good,” he says, pushing Louis’ leg down so that he can continue on to the fridge. “Promise.”

“Okay. You just seem... quiet. Like, off or something.”

“Just tired, all of a sudden,” Harry says into the fridge as he slides the pie onto a shelf. _Are you in love with me are you in love with me are you in love with me._ “I think the lack of sleep from school is catching up to me.”

“Wanna go watch a movie when this is done? Maybe we’ll fall asleep on the couch and then your mum can’t get mad at us for taking a nap.” Louis kicks his heels against the counter and Harry suddenly flashes back, sharp and painful, to the night they met. He’d sat on the counter in the dorm kitchen just like that, and Harry had been captivated from the first minute.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

He can avoid thinking about this, he can. In three weeks he’ll be back here for five long weeks of winter break, and Louis will be building a house with Habitat for Humanity in New Orleans, and then going back to England, and Harry will deal with all of it then.

For now, he just wants to make Louis laugh as much as he can.

*

“So this is where the great Harry Styles went to school,” Louis comments, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulder. Bundled up in coats, layers upon layers, Harry knows that he’s imagining that he can feel the heat of Louis’ body against his, but he pretends the feeling is real.

“The very place. Come on, we’re gonna be late for the game.”

Harry pays for both of their tickets and ushers Louis in, saying hello to people he knows as they make their way into the stadium.

“Do you know everyone in this town?” Louis asks, incredulity lacing his tone.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just spent ten minutes chatting with the girl who sold us our tickets, and before that you were talking to your third grade teacher--”

“She was my _favorite_ teacher!” Harry interjects.

Louis ignores him and keeps talking. “And yesterday we ran into your old football -- sorry, _soccer_ \-- coach and if his wife hadn’t pulled the two of you apart, you would’ve been talking for _hours_. And everyone at the bakery knows you by name.”

“I told you, I used to _work_ at the bakery,” Harry protests, eyes scanning the crowd for his friends.

“It’s not a bad thing! It’s just that everyone seems to know who you are. You’re quite a popular guy. I guess it makes sense, what with you being so charming and all.”

Harry spots his friends just then, five of them gathered in a clump at the edge of the bleachers, so he’s able to tamp down the warm feeling in his stomach at Louis’ words. “Look, they’re right there! I’m excited for you to meet them.”

He hugs Johnny and Martin and Sam and Jordan and Alex one by one.

He takes a step back and gestures to Louis. “This is--”

“You must be Louis,” Johnny interrupts, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Sam says, and Harry blushes. He _possibly_ told his friends too much about Louis whenever they spoke.

“Only good things, I hope,” Louis says happily.

“Everything’s ‘oh me and Louis did this’ and ‘me and Louis did that,’” Martin says. “Nice to meet the legend himself in person.”

“Okay!” Harry says loudly, clapping his hands. “Who wants some hot chocolate?”

It’s endearing to watch Louis jump around, a borrowed red scarf around his neck as he cheers for Harry’s high school. He warms his hands on a travel mug of hot chocolate and asks questions about the school and the mascot and different players on the team.

After half time, no one pays much attention to the football game, preferring instead to trade stories about crazy college exploits and how waking up for that 8 am class is not nearly as easy as they expected, despite doing it for all of high school. Louis fits right in, capturing the group’s attention with his own stories. Harry feels a weird rush of pride that he’s got Louis as a best friend. Everyone loves him, but Harry most of all.

Things only get a bit painful when the conversation turns to romance. Martin still has his long-time girlfriend and Jordan has a boyfriend he met the first week of school and the rest of them are figuring things out.

“What about the two of you?” Sam asks, one eyebrow raised. “Louis?”

“Still single,” Louis says, his voice quiet.

“Well, someone great will come along soon, I’m sure,” Jordan insists. Harry feels a painful knot grow in his stomach and can’t meet Louis’ eyes.

*

Anne drops them back at school on Sunday with tearful goodbyes for both Harry and Louis. “I better see you again sometime soon,” she says to Louis. “Don’t let Harry keep you away from us. You’re always welcome to come stay, and don’t be afraid to give us a ring if you get homesick.”

Louis hugs her tightly and Harry is so, so thankful that she likes Louis almost as much as he does.

When she wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight, Harry buries his face in her shoulder and refuses to let go. When he goes back into his dorm building, he’ll have to face the realities of his life: he has exams coming up, he’s going to be busier than he’s ever been for the next three weeks, and he’s in love with his best friend.

The funny thing is, it hit him over Thanksgiving dinner. Louis had been in the middle of making the whole table laugh at a joke at Harry’s expense, and he’d turned to Harry and asked him to pass the potatoes. It was the smallest moment in the world, but Harry just. He knew. Knew that this was it for him.

“He’s a good one, okay?” his mum murmurs in his ear. “Don’t let him go.”

_I don’t want to,_ Harry thinks. _I hope I never have to._

“I’ll try. See you in a few weeks. I love you.”

*

Work shifts are busier than ever in the first two weeks of December, partially because it’s everyone’s trying to get their donations in before the end of the calendar year and partially because Harry wishes he could be anywhere but there. He’s been trying to act normal around Louis, but it’s difficult not to second-guess every little thing he does and says. Gemma’s words are constantly ringing in his ears, and so Harry takes to going for long runs with Liam, spending long hours in the studio with Jade working on their final projects, and even manages to have a few roommate dinners with Niall.

He’s not _avoiding_ Louis, they’re still as cuddly and affectionate as ever when they are together, but Harry lets his busy schedule be an excuse not to see him.

He and Liam spend hours in a reserved study room of the library on Friday, both of them trying to absorb as much information as they can for the microeconomics exam. Louis comes by with study advice, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see him as when Louis crosses through the doorway with burritos for the three of them.  

“You’re coming to my show tonight, right, Harry?” Louis asks a while later, pressed up against Harry’s thigh at the table and acting like Liam isn’t even there. It’s not making it any easier for Harry, but he’s not going to turn Louis away.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be there.”

Louis darts over and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek before getting up from the table. “Okay, good. I’ll see you guys there.”

Liam gives him a strange look once Louis is gone, and Harry just shrugs in response. If he can’t figure Louis out, no one can.

*

Harry keeps his promise and sits in the front row at Louis’ performance of _Grease_. Louis absolutely kills it as Danny, and Harry’s not sure he’s ever seen Louis look happier than he does on stage.

“You were incredible,” Harry says at the stage door after the close of the show. He presses a bundle of flowers into Louis’ hand and a kiss to his cheek.

“Harry,” Louis says, looking a little awed. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to bring flowers; it was enough that you came and already bought tickets to all the other shows. You’re the most supportive person I’ve ever met, honestly.”

“I wanted to,” Harry says, and he blushes a little bit at the praise. “It’s not every day that I get to see my best friend in a lead role.”

Louis hugs him tightly, warm and solid in Harry’s arms, and when he stands up on his tiptoes to press a warm kiss to Harry’s cheek, Harry feels a bit woozy. Louis keeps his lips there for far longer than he needs to, and it is definitely, definitely not helping.

*

Louis’ third of four shows falls on a Friday, the same day that exams end. Harry, Zayn, Liam and Niall get dinner at the dining hall with the girls before heading over to the auditorium. It’s snowing outside, the powder crunching underneath their boots and causing them to wrap their coats tighter around themselves.

“I’m excited to see this,” Leigh Anne says, excitement coloring her voice. “Harry’s told me great things.”

“Yeah, Harry’s been to every performance,’ Niall answers, and Harry does not like the teasing tone in his voice. He’s fairly certain that all of his friends know. If his sister could figure it out within six hours of being in Harry and Louis’ presence, certainly his friends know. He’s very, very thankful to them for never saying anything outright about it.

Some things you have to deal with on your own.

“Do you know if Louis has plans after this?” Perrie asks him. “Because we want to have an end of exams party in our room, and it won’t be the same without him. Nothing fancy, just us, something casual. Maybe play a few drinking games.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asks, an eyebrow raised. He’s not sure Perrie knows the meaning of the word casual as it relates to parties. “Yeah, I think he’s free. What kind of games?”

They reach the auditorium and have to show their tickets then, so Perrie doesn’t get a chance to answer. Oh well. He can ask her later.

*

“Louis, can you please stop knocking over the cups?” Liam asks. He’s got his hands on his hips like a stern teacher, but he quickly collapses into a drunken fit of giggles.

“I think we’ve had enough of this game,” Perrie says gently, scooping up the cups and throwing them into the bin. Zayn frowns.

“What are we gonna play now?”

“Spin the bottle!” Jade shouts, eager like a preschooler. If preschoolers played Spin the Bottle. Harry’s pretty sure they don’t. He’s also pretty sure he’s drunk, so he can’t quite figure out rational thought processes.

Liam and Niall groan, and Zayn scoffs, “Come on, we’re not fifteen.”

“No, that’s a good idea. A bit of kissing between friends won’t hurt anyone. Besides, I’ve already kissed like half of you,” Perrie says as she guides them all into a circle. Harry looks around the room. There’s nine people including himself, and he hasn’t kissed any of them. He really only cares about kissing one.

Harry gives it about fifteen minutes before they all get sick of the game and move onto something else. Perrie gives the empty vodka bottle first spin and everyone watches as it lands on Zayn. Because of course it does.

She crawls over to him and presses a quick kiss to his lips. It’s comfortable, and something tells Harry that this isn’t the first time this has happened. Watching Zayn kiss her reminds him of how he’d had a crush on Zayn for, like, a week after they met, mostly something born of living next to a boy who looks like he should be a Gucci model. But then he looks over at Louis and yeah, definitely no contest.

When it’s Niall’s turn, he lands on Jesy. They make eye contact and start giggling, and it’s the briefest kiss Harry’s ever seen, a quick press of lips and then pulling away. Harry’s never asked for confirmation, but he’s pretty sure Niall and Jesy had a thing going the first month of school. Whatever it is, the awkwardness that could have lingered is definitely gone.

Jesy spins and lands on Louis, and even though Harry _knows_ Louis doesn’t like girls, knows there’s nothing to be jealous of, knows that he has no right to be jealous even if there was, there’s still an angry clawing in his stomach. Louis pulls back from her face a second later, his face flushed with embarrassment, and he makes direct eye contact with Harry. The clawing gets worse and Harry feels hot all over, feels it in his toes and his fingertips and in his chest.

It’s Louis’ turn.

He can’t look, he doesn’t want to see Louis kissing someone else, doesn’t ever want to see Louis’ lips pressed up against someone else’s again. But he can’t look away either, finds it impossible to tear his gaze away from Louis whenever they’re in the same room.

Louis spins, and Harry holds his breath as the bottle turns and turns. His stomach is doing flips in time with the spinning, and then it slows to a stop.

On Harry.

Harry inhales sharply, and the feeling is still buzzing in his gut, but it’s transformed to the hot, sharp buzz of _want_. He wants this so much that it actually hurts. He’s sure that everyone is staring at the two of them, can feel the atmosphere in the room growing tense, but he only has eyes for Louis, for Louis’ eyes staring at his face, for the way Louis is biting his lower lip.

There’s a ringing in his ears, and he sees more than he hears Louis saying, “Alright, Hazza,” and then both of them are on their knees to get to each other. He’s thought about this moment so many times over the past few months, has thought about it nearly hourly for the past few weeks, but when Louis presses his lips against Harry’s, it’s better than he imagined.

There’s nothing soft about it, nothing like the other kisses that have been shared tonight. This one is all pent-up frustration, passion, desire. It’s like Harry is drowning, and Louis’ mouth is the first gasp above air. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along Louis’ lower lip, and it’s against the rules of the game, but he doesn’t _care_ , doesn’t care about anything but Louis’ mouth on his. He thinks he could die right now and still be content.

It’s over far too quickly, the clapping and cheering from their drunk friends too much for them to handle anymore. He pulls away and feels empty, a sudden loss, even as Louis rests his forehead against his. Louis looks like he wants to say something, but he’s catching his breathing and then Liam’s pulling them apart.

When they go back to their seats, Perrie’s got a wicked glint in her eye and Harry’s got a heart that’s threatening to beat out of his chest.

*

Harry thinks that's it, and that's all he'll ever get, because the party continues and he and Louis keep being separated by their too-drunk-to-realize friends.

But then it winds down, Zayn and Jesy and Liam dropping one by one into sleep on whatever surface is relatively clear, and Harry decides he's going to head back to his and Niall's room. He doesn't realize he's been followed until he stops at his locked door and feels a familiar warmth there at his back.

"Lou," he says when he turns around. "What--"

"Just," Louis says, and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him. Over and over and over, and Harry lets him.

*

Harry wakes up and his head is absolutely pounding, his throat dry and his body heavy. He shifts, throwing an arm out to hang off of Louis. He has no idea what time it is, but he’d be fine to cuddle up to him for another two hours of sleep-

Except his arm hits the cold mattress instead of Louis’ warm body.

He could be in the loo. They drank a _lot_ last night, and it’s not uncommon for Louis to have to wake up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night when they’ve been drinking. But Harry knows, somehow, can feel with a heavy heart that Louis isn’t there. He’s gone. Harry suddenly feels cold and sober as he sits up to fumble for his phone, finding it under his pillow. It’s 11:46 am, and he’s got one text.

**Lou (9:03 am): I’m sorry x**

That’s it. No explanation as to where he’s gone, no other communication. He’d like to think the best of it, but he feels in his bones that something’s wrong. He’s got a series of Snapchats from Zayn and Perrie and Niall, but he can’t be bothered to see reminders of last night when his heart is clenching so tight that his chest might break.

He slips on shoes and takes the elevator to Louis’ room, where he pounds on the door in the hopes that he’s inside. The opens instead to reveal the girlfriend of Louis’ terrible roommate, who informs him in a monotone that no, they haven’t seen Louis all night and _in the future would you please not be so loud if you’re going to wake us up before noon._

Well, fuck them.

And fuck Louis too, because after two hours, countless phone calls, and a visit to Zayn, he still hasn’t heard a word from him. Harry sits on his bed and passes his phone from hand to hand, checking Snapchat and Instagram and Facebook in a loop, constantly refreshing for anything Louis might have posted. Just any hint that he’s okay would be nice. Harry’s stomach is grumbling but he’s too sad and too worried and too uncertain about the state of things to worry about things like food.

Niall appears around two, looking very pleased with himself after having spent the night in Jesy’s bed. “Lou in the shower?” He asks, scratching his stomach under his t-shirt.

Harry’s been barely holding it together this whole time, and he hugs his legs to his chest as his eyes fill with tears. “No, he... uh. He left.”

Niall’s jaw drops, and he hoists himself onto Harry’s bed to take a seat next to him. “What do you mean he left?”

Harry leans into Niall’s warm touch and allows himself to think about where he can even begin. “He came back here last night when the party ended. Said he didn’t want to go back to his room. He’s slept here so many times, it was just like all the others. Except we got into bed and we kissed a bit. No, a lot. And then I woke up and he was just _gone_.”

Niall’s smiles sadly, and Harry’s thankful there’s no pity reflected there. He doesn’t think he could handle pity, not right now.

“I love him, Niall,” Harry says, his watery voice breaking in the middle. “I’m in _love_ with him, and now he’s just...he’s not here.”

He starts crying properly now, and Niall, who used to never show emotion when they first moved in, hugs him close and lets Harry cry on his t-shirt as his body is wracked with sobs.

“I had a feeling,” Niall says quietly as he rubs Harry’s back once the tears have slowed. “Like, we all saw it. We knew there was something there.”

That just makes Harry cry harder. “Oh, so I’m the idiot who fell in love with my best friend and what’s worse is that everyone else knew except him. Wow. Great. Of course this would happen to me.”

“What? No, Harry. It’s not like that.” Niall pulls back and wipes his thumbs across the tears pooling on Harry’s cheeks, and the action is so like something his mum would do that Harry wants to cry all over again. “He feels the same way.”

“I don’t think he does, Nialler. He slept here and he texted me the word ‘sorry’ and now he’s just _gone_.”

Niall puts his hands on Harry’s shoulder and looks him square in the face. “Harry, I say this with love: shut up. He feels the same way about you, I know he does. Probably something happened and he needed to run off. His last show is today; maybe they have to do a runthrough or prepare for the party tonight.” He sighs, and softens a little. “I don’t think the situation is dire as you’re making it seem. I know you’re sad, but try to think about this rationally. He wouldn’t just leave you like that without a reason.”

Harry sniffles and wipes his nose with his palm. He takes a shaky inhale, and sits up straight. It’ll be okay.

“I don’t know about you,” Niall says as he toes off his sneakers. “But I could go for a nap. Can we sleep in your bed?”

Harry falls asleep with Niall’s arm wrapped around him and while it’s nowhere as nice as feeling Louis pressed against him, it’s still a warm comfort.

*

Harry’s nervous to get to the show and sit in the spot he’s established as his by now, but they’d all made plans to go to the drama club after-show party, so he’s going to follow through.

He didn’t bring flowers this time, too busy dreading seeing Louis to remember ahead of time.

Seeing Louis walk out on stage for the fourth time is no less magical than the first. Louis absolutely owns the role, was made for it, and Harry might be biased but he thinks that Louis is the best Danny Zuko he’s ever seen. He can’t help but remember last night, when it felt like everything was finally happening for them.

_What went wrong?_ he thinks. _What did I do to mess it all up?_

None of the actors will come to the stage door tonight, so they’ve all planned to meet at the party. It’s at an apartment off-campus, and Perrie shows up with a bottle of vodka smuggled in her coat. After dropping their jackets and snow-covered boots at the front door, they head right for the drink table. Harry is definitely going to need some alcohol if he wants to have a conversation about _feelings_ with Louis. The nerves hit him again, the uncertainty about the whole situation. Niall’s words had helped, but he can’t help but feel like something’s wrong.

He’s on his second drink when he realizes that he hasn’t seen Louis around. He’s been so caught up in the prospect of seeing him again that he hasn’t actually thought to like, look for him.

“Have you seen Lou?” He asks Liam, who shakes his head. He spots the girl who played Sandy in the show, and she tells him that she last saw him on his way to the toilet. She points down the hall, and Harry goes in search.

It’s time for them to talk like the fake adults they are, and finally figure this shit out. He can’t keep playing games.

He pokes his head into the bathroom, and Louis isn’t in there. He’s not in the two bedrooms Harry checks either (he’s not a creep, but the doors were open, and he’s on the hunt for his missing best friend). He’s resolved to go back out to the party in the living room and see if he’s reappeared when he spots a familiar hoodie hung on the doorknob of a bedroom. It’s a hoodie that’s been “accidentally” folded in with Harry’s laundry so many times, the gray OOPS jumper that Louis always wants to wear but never wants to wash.

“Lou, are you in--” Harry’s cut short when he enters the doorway because, as it turns out, Louis _is_ in here.

He’s -- he’s _kissing_ someone.

Some guy with dark hair who’s got his shirt pushed halfway up his chest and Louis’ hands in his hair.

Louis is kissing him. _His_ Louis. Or, well. Not his Louis. Not anymore.

Harry doesn’t recognize the guy, and it doesn’t really matter; all he knows is that his heart has dropped pathetically from his chest to the dingy floor and Louis is scrambling up on the bed, pushing the boy away and fumbling for a shirt.

“Hazza, wait, I swear--”

“No,” Harry cuts him off, tone short. He’s not -- no. He’s not going to sit patiently and listen to _explanations_ , not when he’s just been ready to wear his heart on his sleeve, to lay it all on the line, and Louis has stomped all over that. “You don’t -- you don’t get to call me that anymore. God,” he whispers, voice rough. “I thought.. I thought maybe there… I thought. No.”

“Harry--” Louis tries again.

“Goodbye, Lou,” Harry says. He spins on his heel and he can hear Louis calling after him but he doesn’t care. He makes it back to his friends just as Niall’s pulling on his coat. “Niall. Can I come with you?”

Niall takes one look at his red eyes and messed up hair and nods. “Guys, I’m taking Harry to the frat with me. See you all later.”

He grabs onto Harry’s hand and they’re both silent as they make their way down the busy city street. It’s stopped snowing by now, and the telephone polls are all decorated with Christmas lights. It should be beautiful -- it _is_ beautiful -- but Harry just feels angry and sad.

“He doesn’t want me,” he says after they’ve been walking for a few minutes. He tries to hold his voice steady, but he doesn’t succeed. “He was with someone else, I… I think it’s all over.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Niall says, and there’s confusion in his tone but Harry doesn’t want to get into it, so he just lets Niall hug him tight.

“I’m… I’m not. I’m not sorry. I’m angry _,_ ” Harry says, realization dawning. “I’m _angry,_ Ni. I-- I waited all this time because I thought… I thought he was _it._ The one. And now. Now I know he’s not.”

*

Harry wakes up in his own bed the next day, stewing in a mixture of alcohol and shame and exhaustion and heartbreak; he thought he’d been feeling like shit yesterday, but today is far, far worse. And then he remembers, remembers _everything:_ drinking to forget waking up to an empty bed, going in search of Louis, finding him in the last position he thought he’d be, leaving with Niall...

Oh, fuck.

“Did I kiss someone last night?” Harry mumbles, his eyes still closed because he’s afraid to open them. “I did, didn’t I?”

Niall mumbles something that sounds disturbingly like a yes. Shit.

“Well that was a big fucking mistake, wasn’t it?” he says, more to himself than to Niall, but he can hear Niall sit up anyway.

“Yeah, Evan is a douche. But you were sad. We do irresponsible things when we’re sad.”

Harry dares open an eye and squints at the afternoon light streaming into the room. Niall’s watching him, and there’s the pitying look that Harry didn’t want to see yesterday.

“What do I do, Niall?” He wants to cry again, but he promised himself he wasn’t going to cry over Louis.

So Louis isn’t into him. So Louis broke his heart. So Louis spent a night kissing him and then left to find someone else to kiss instead. Fine. They can still be best friends. Harry can still be happy for him. He can move on. It just might take a while.

Niall gets up and crawls into Harry’s bed and holds him while he cries. It's so reminiscent of yesterday except so much _worse_ , because yesterday he thought maybe he had a chance, and now he's pretty certain he's lost his first love and more importantly, his best friend.

“I didn't mean to kiss Evan,” Harry sobs into Niall’s shoulder. “I didn't. But I saw him standing there and he got me a drink and he was being flirty and I knew he liked me and I just felt so _sad_ and lonely and--”

He cuts himself off as he has a hazy flash of memory, Evan dragging him into his bedroom in the frat and unzipping his jeans and getting Harry off with his hand. Trying to pretend that it was Louis. Deciding halfway through that he didn't want it anymore and pushing Evan away.

He drops his head back on the pillow, his stomach rolling in shame. Niall knows what happened; he must have seen Harry going off with Evan and returning shortly after. Niall doesn't say anything, just runs his hands through Harry’s short hair, tangling his fingers in his curls.

He doesn't know how long they lie there, just know that's he's nearly been soothed back to sleep before Harry’s phone beeps with a series of texts. He ignores it. When it beeps again two minutes later, Niall picks up the phone and hands it to Harry. “You probably want to open these,” he says quietly.

He has four texts from Louis. As he’s staring at the phone, deciding whether or not he wants to open them and face the situation at hand, another text comes through. Suddenly, he can’t keep going like this anymore; he has to know if what they have is ruined or if they’ll be able to repair it.

**Lou (12:03 pm): Hazza, I’m so so so sorry**

**I know I fucked everything up I just want to fix it**

**Will u still come to the xmas tree lighting later? Pls just let me explain**

**Lou (12:05 pm): Ur the best friend ive ever had Harry I never want to hurt u**

Well, that’s rich of him, that last message. Because he _did_ hurt Harry, possibly irrevocably so. He rolls over so that he and Niall are face to face, and he passes him the phone without a word. Niall’s silent for a minute before he speaks.

“You should go,” Niall says quietly. “Go talk to him. Figure it out. I know the thing with Evan was a mistake, and I think that Louis made a mistake too. That’s all they were, mistakes. Go, talk to him, figure it out. You guys love each other, I know you do.”

“How?” Harry bursts out, propping himself up on an elbow to look at Niall better. “How do you know?” He trusted Niall once, and look where that got him. Brokenhearted and kissing someone he never wanted to kiss.

Niall takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, like he’s trying to center himself before he talks. Then, “Because Louis looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Like you’re not just his best friend, but his favorite person in the world.”

_“It’s like he thinks you’re magic,”_ Gemma had said.

“I’ve never seen Lou as happy as he is when he’s with you, Haz,” Niall adds.

Harry rolls over so that he’s laying on his back again. “Then why did he do what he did?”

“I think he’s scared,” Niall says quietly. “Because feelings are scary. But I think you need to talk to him. I think you can work it out. I think you guys can fix it.”

Sickly sweet hope blooms in Harry’s chest, and he probably shouldn’t do it, but he texts Louis all the same.

**Sent 12:16 pm: I’ll meet you in the lobby at 6:30.**

*

With his final exams over, Harry doesn’t have anything to distract himself for the next six hours. At Niall’s coaxing he takes a shower, and when he gets back to their room, he finds that Niall has ordered them each a buffalo chicken sandwich from the wrap place around the corner. He dresses quickly and then settles on the rug on the dorm floor next to Niall, unwrapping the sandwich and watching the steam curl into the air.

“You okay?” Niall asks after a few minutes. He’s laying on the floor, and Harry would lay down next to him except for the nervous energy that’s threatening to burst out of his skin. He could probably go outside and run five miles right now and still be fidgety and anxious at the end.

Harry picks at a fleck of skin next to a fingernail. Rolls up the wrappers from the food and throws them in the bin. Folds an errant shirt that’s laying on his desk. He does all this before he answers, because he doesn’t really _have_ an answer.

“I’m gonna bake something,” he says in lieu of a real answer. He can’t think about this anymore, can’t think more about feelings and the future and the boy with blue eyes who turned his world upside down. He needs to busy his hands, needs to create something, needs to get out of this room.

“Okay,” Niall says. “Can you make snickerdoodles?”

“Yeah, Ni,” Harry says with a laugh. “I can make snickerdoodles.”

Niall keeps him company in the kitchen while he works, sits on the counter and sings along to the music, and it’s so like all the times that he and Louis have done this that Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to suppress his tears.

*

He agonizes over what to wear, changing his outfit three times and eventually settling on the one he picked at the beginning, skinny jeans and warm boots and his favorite flannel and best peacoat. It’s stupid, he knows; Louis doesn’t care what he wears, he doesn’t have to impress anyone. But if this is going to be the end of the two of them, he at least wants to look good while his life is falling apart.

Niall says goodbye to him with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and a promise that it’ll be fine. Also, a promise to save him a few snickerdoodles for when he gets back. Harry’s not so sure, his stomach threatening to turn itself inside out on the elevator ride down to the lobby. He reaches the bottom level far too soon, and he sends up a prayer that no matter what happens, he won’t cry.

Louis is already standing there, looking at a bulletin board about packing up the dorms for winter break. His hands are in his pockets and he looks relaxed, casual. Harry coughs a little, and when Louis turns around, his breath catches in his throat. This is the longest they’ve gone without speaking to each other since they became friends, and even in spite of all the anxiety wrapped up in the past 36 hours, Harry’s still so happy to see him.

“Hi,” Louis says quietly, and despite his casual stance he sounds so uncertain, like maybe he’s nervous about this too. That oddly makes Harry feel a bit better.

“Hi,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair for something to do with his hands.

“So, um,” Louis continues, looking as though he’s already on the back foot, like he expected Harry to be more conversational. “How are you?”

Harry just gives him a look, cool and frustrated and exhausted and, yes, _angry,_ because Louis shuts his mouth with a snap.

Louis chuckles awkwardly after another stilted moment, short and sharp. “So this is... really awkward, isn’t it?”

Good. Harry’s okay with it being awkward. Maybe if it’s awkward, Louis will have to use actual words to express his feelings.

Louis exhales slowly. “Right. So, um. I think we both have some things we want to talk about, yeah?” Harry lets him have a nod, and he can’t help but drop his gaze to the floor, to the shoes Louis is wearing. They’re his good, proper shoes, the nice ones he spent a whole paycheck on a few weeks ago, not his usual sneakers. “You wanna get going?”

Louis holds the door open for him when they’re leaving the building, and their arms brush as Harry passes; everything’s all confused and backwards in his mind, because somehow that small gesture makes Harry feel a lot better and a lot worse at the exact same time.

They take the train to the lighting and Louis chatters the entire way there, mostly about the boys and their plans for the Christmas holidays. Harry doesn't say much, because his insides are still all twisted up and even if Louis is his favorite person on earth, it still hurts too much to look at him right now.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to run into an ex-boyfriend five years after you’ve broken up: awkward, a bit stilted, the one who did wrong jumping through hoops to explain, the one wronged just going along with it because they’re still in too deep to let go. He doesn’t want his relationship with Louis to be reduced to that.

Niall had told them that there would be thousands of people at the Christmas tree lighting, but somehow Harry hadn’t processed the sheer depth of the crowd they’d be facing. Louis reaches out like he might grab Harry’s hand but hesitates, then stops, as though he knows he doesn’t have that right anymore.

“So,” Louis says, breaking the silence between them. Harry lets out a slow breath; it’s time. They’re doing this. “First I need to say that I’m sorry. I never should have left on Friday night. I woke up and you looked so peaceful and comfortable, and our hands were touching, and I remembered how much I liked kissing you, and I just -- freaked out. I shouldn’t have left. Like, I really shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.”

They pass an empty bench and Harry sits down, waiting for Louis to continue. He’s really, _really_ not sure how this is going to go, whether this will turn into a full-fledged argument or they can somehow fix what has been shattered. He just wants to know what’s next.

“Why did you leave?” Harry asks flatly.

“I panicked,” Louis says, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Everything the night before was so good -- you’re so _good_ \-- and I woke up, and I just…”

“You what?”

“I couldn’t fathom why you would want to be with me like that. It just seemed like I was in over my head and I needed to get out of there to… to think.”

“But why?” Harry asks again, because he doesn’t _understand_. “Why didn’t you feel like we could figure it out? I thought we were _best friends_.”

“We are! And I thought that when I fell in love with you, I was ruining the whole thing. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “When you-- you--”

“Yes, Harry, fell in love with you,” Louis shoots back. “As if you didn’t know. And I that there was a chance, that maybe... I’ve been so bloody obvious about the whole thing, and it fucked everything up.” He drops his head into his hands, shielding his face from Harry’s view.

But Harry’s stuck, nothing new being absorbed because his mind is too busy screeching _FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU, HE FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU._ “You’re actually in love with me?” he asks breathlessly. “But I... I was…” It seems surreal to say out loud. It’s all he’s wanted to hear for weeks, and yet something still feels off. These aren’t the circumstances under which he thought he’d hear them.

Louis mumbles something unintelligible. Harry continues anyway.

“Then why… why did you do what you did?”

“I just… panicked. I don’t know. I know it was wrong. I never wanted to hurt you, Harry, I _swear_ it. But I just felt so, so much that night with you, and I think I thought that if I kissed someone else, I would feel the same thing when I woke up.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I… I thought it was just that I needed someone to kiss. Well, turns out it doesn’t work like that because I still wanted you.”

“But you ran,” Harry says, because the echoing _he loves you he loves you_ has faded away, and he’s left remembering the feeling of watching Louis kiss someone else. “You love me, but you still ran. You still kissed someone else.”

“I did,” Louis agrees brokenly. “I got scared, and I ran.”

“I kissed someone too,” he admits, and he can feel Louis’ hand twitch in his palm.

“Yeah,” Louis says, his eyes dropping to the ground. “I probably deserved that.”

Harry swallows at the pain in Louis’ voice, but pushes on.“After I saw you and that guy, I went to Niall’s frat. “I tried to hook up with him, and I just...couldn’t do it. I just kept thinking about you. You with that other guy.”

He needs to lay all his cards out on the table. Louis just looks at him, and for the first time in a long time Harry can’t read anything he’s thinking. Louis’ face is shadowed in the darkness and he’s still the most  beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. He suddenly feels like if he doesn’t just say it, it’s going to spill out of him and he’s going to burst.

“So we both fucked up. But even in spite of all that...” he swallows and pulls his hand away from Louis’ to scrub it over his face. “God, Louis, I still love you.”

Louis whips his head up in surprise. “What?”

Harry laughs quietly. “Despite everything, despite the fact that you left... I’m still so in love with you.”

The slow smile that appears on Louis’ face is a little blinding. It looks a little bit like wonder, a little bit like hope. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I am. I think I have been since the beginning. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Me too,” Louis says, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m sorry I messed up so badly. I can’t promise I’m never gonna hurt you again, but… I do. I do love you.”

Harry feels light-headed, but he can’t really be blamed; he’s eighteen years old and he’s just heard the boy he’s in love with say that he’s in love with him too.

It’s a powerful feeling.

But. They both screwed up. “I believe you, but… I’m scared of it happening again.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, his face downcast again. A beat of hesitation. “I’m not gonna break your heart again, if that’s what you’re worried about. I swear it.”

“I couldn’t take it if you did,” Harry confesses.

“Do you think…” Louis reaches out to grab his hand. “Do you think we could try anyway? Give it a shot? If we promise never to intentionally hurt each other again?”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “I want to try.”

Louis’ careful ensuing smile makes it all worth it. _He looks at you like you’re magic,_ Gemma had said, and Harry sees it now.

It took a long time to get here, but finally there’s nothing left for him to do but kiss Louis, and everything about it feels different than that first time. When their lips touch, it feels soft and warm and comfortable. It feels like coming home.

He can hear the crowd cheering a few hundred feet away and while he knows it's not for them, he kinda feels like it is a little bit. Because finally, they've figured this out. He might cry a little, they both do, and he presses his gloved hands to Louis’ face and just _looks_ , a bit in disbelief that this is actually happening, it’s a real thing.

Once he’s had his fill of staring at him (for the moment), he leans in for another kiss and he can’t believe that he can just _do_ that now, can kiss Louis whenever he wants. The thought of it makes him swipe his tongue across Louis’ bottom lip, makes him curl his hand around the back of neck to pull Louis closer. He’s not sure how long they sit there, but he’s cold and his fingers are numb and he doesn’t care about any of it.

“You wanna go home?” Louis asks when they break away from a kiss that is probably pushing the boundaries of social acceptability.

Harry looks at him, the crinkles in his eyes and his blinding smile. It’s so, so tempting to take him by the hand and go home and drag him into bed. But he shakes his head.

“No, let’s go look at the tree for a little bit. I want this to be a real date.”

“A date, huh?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised. “You didn't want to ask me first? You didn’t even give me the opportunity to say no.”

Harry laughs. “I’m pretty certain you're a sure thing.”


	2. Senior Fall

**_In the space_ **

**_the pause between this breath and the one that follows_ **

**_you have made a home inside me_ **

**_Tyler Knott Gregson_ **

Harry steps out of his room and shuts the door behind him, patting his pocket to make sure he has his house key. He walks out to the living room, where Liam’s lounging on the couch, drinking a bright red smoothie and watching a superhero movie.

“Liam, I’m gonna head out to the gym. Are you still planning on being here for dinner tonight?”

Liam sits up with astounding speed, nearly knocking over the smoothie in the process. His eyebrows are raised, which wrinkles his forehead in a way that makes him look frantic. “No, you can’t leave.”

“I’m literally just going for a run, I’ll be back in like an hour,” Harry insists. “We said I’d make pasta, right? I can pick up some pesto too, I know that Zayn and Niall don’t like it but they’re not here.”

“No, no, you have to stay here,” Liam says quickly, and he scrambles up and off the couch. He rifles through the items on the coffee table, papers and books and his laptop, and finds his phone. He starts typing at a rapid pace, expression still frantic. “I need you to help me move the kitchen table, we need to replace it with the new one.”

“You need to do this now?” Harry asks, tone flat.

“Yes. Right now.” They’re staring at each other, the couch in between them, and it feels a little like a face off. “Come on, let’s do it and then it’ll be done.”

“Look, Liam, why don't we wait until Zayn and Niall get back tomorrow? They can help us.”

“No, we have to move this now.”

“Li, we really don’t. We can sit on the floor and eat, it’s just the two of us. I’ll be back later.” He bends down to tie his sneakers.

“No, wait.”

Liam’s phone beeps with a text again and Harry waits impatiently as his fingers fly across the keys. Harry looks at the clock, irritated now. The gym is still on summer hours and it’ll be closed before he has time to get in a proper workout if he doesn’t hurry up.

“Yeah, we could sit on the floor, but the new one is gonna be blocking the entrance way until we move it,” Liam says. “Come on, let’s just do it, it’ll be over soon enough.”

Harry cannot understand what’s possibly got into Liam to make him this frantic about a stupid table, but he figures that if he moves the table for him quickly enough, he’ll still have time to get in some of his workout. He sighs heavily, long and suffering. “Alright, fine. Let’s go. But you have to wash the dishes tonight for this.”

“Okay, deal, brilliant, whatever you want,”  Liam answers, suddenly gleeful. He’s looking at his phone again, a strange sort of twisted smile on his face. He slides it into his back pocket and gives it a little pat, and then Harry follows him into the kitchen so they can move this goddamn table.

There’s nothing _wrong_ with the one they have per se, just that it’s old and cheap and peeling. After Liam had gotten a splinter from the unfinished wood for the third time last week, he’d insisted that they purchase a new one. Harry was a good roommate and went to IKEA with him to pick it out, and now they’ve got the new one assembled in their front hallway, just waiting to be put in its place.

Which they are doing today, apparently.

“Okay, so I think if you just lift this end, and I’ll walk forwards, and then you turn in the doorway, we should be good,” Liam orders.

Harry bends at the knees and as soon as he lifts the table, he thinks he might not have to do any weightlifting today after all. The table feels like it’s made of concrete, and he can’t remember how they got it into their apartment last autumn but there’s clearly a reason they never moved it.

“Was this--” he grunts through gritted teeth as he tries not to fall over, “--so heavy last year?”

Liam just shakes his head, his face twisted up into a grimace like the weight of the table has removed all his powers of speech. They make it from the kitchen into the living room, and then Liam’s phone beeps again. He squats to drop the table without warning and Harry’s forced to follow.

“Liam, what the fuck are you doing? Who the hell are you texting?” He’s irritated now, because Liam is _smiling_ , and he knows that Harry’s trying to get to the gym and he’s just completely absorbed in his phone.

“I have to run to the loo, I’ll be right back. Just wait there.” Liam’s gone before Harry can say a word of complaint, dancing out of the room. The bathroom door closes and Harry’s fairly certain that he can hear Liam _singing_ in there, some stupid pop song that all the radio stations have been calling “the song of the summer.”

Harry sighs and leans against the heavy-as-fuck table, crossing his arms over his chest and willing himself to calm down. It’s fine, he shouldn’t get annoyed. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s in yoga class, taking a long breath in before releasing it. He repeats this three times, and Liam’s still in the loo and Harry’s still a little annoyed but he does feel better.

The doorbell rings and Harry crosses the living room to get to the front door. Hopefully it’s his Amazon package with all his class supplies; classes start in four days and he really needs them to show up before then.

He flings the door open, takes a step outside, and has to squint at the way the sunlight’s reflecting right into his eyes.

“Hey stranger,” Louis says. And -- wait.

Louis. In front of him. _Here_.

Harry takes a step forward and all of a sudden Louis is wrapping his arms around him and he’s wrapping his arms right back and Louis is _here_ in his arms. “What the fuck, hi, I missed you,” Harry asks, the words all squashed together. “What are you doing here?” He’s laughing into Louis’ hair and Louis is squeezing him tight and Harry’s not sure he’s ever been so happy in his life.

Harry releases him for a moment, just to get a good look at him. He’s shaved recently, gotten a haircut since the last time Harry saw him a few weeks ago. He’s wearing denim shorts and one of Harry’s old band t-shirts and he’s _here_.

Louis surges up and kisses him in answer, and Harry’s still a little confused but he honestly doesn’t care right now, because Louis is here, tasting like minty gum and smelling like home.

“Hey, Lou! You made it!” Liam’s voice comes from inside their apartment and Harry pulls back to see Liam standing there with a brilliant smile on his face.

“Hey, Li,” Louis says happily, and wraps his arm tighter around Harry’s waist. “Thanks for helping me surprise my boy.”

“You _knew_ about this?” Harry asks. He should probably be annoyed by the whole thing but he just doesn’t care right now, not when Louis is here today, three days early and looking like Harry’s best daydream.

“I’ve known about this for, like, weeks,” Liam answers as he comes outside in socked feet to give Louis a hug. Harry doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him for keeping the secret.

“This was the plan all along, babe,” Louis says as he presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Have to have some surprises in life, huh?”

They separate only for the three of them to each take one of Louis’ massive suitcases into the apartment, and then Louis is back in Harry’s arms again, the two of them standing in the front hallway as they stare at each other with dopey expressions on their faces.

“I love you,” Harry says, and he’s said it to Louis a hundred thousand times and he’s meant it every time but he feels it sharply and suddenly in his chest like a firecracker.

“I love you,” Louis answers. “I hope you’re not mad.”

“Over a surprise like this? Never.”

They leave his bags in the hall next to the new kitchen table and go to the living room, where Harry pulls him down onto the couch. Louis makes a big show of falling over and eventually he ends up with his legs in Harry’s lap. He grins, pulling Harry forward by the t-shirt for another kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Harry says, and he’s probably said it three times already but he really _can’t_ believe it. Louis smiles at him with something a little like adoration, his head tilted to the side. “I can’t believe you pulled it off. You usually suck at secrets.”

“I can’t believe it either,” Liam says as he comes into the room with a Tupperware container full of scones that Harry made last week. Louis, who had previously been pouting, lets out a little obscene sound at the sight of them, and takes two from the container.

“You’ll have to get your own, Harry, both of these are mine.” He grins when he says it, and the sight of that after so many weeks apart is enough to make Harry swallow his protests and reach for a scone of his own. “Also, thanks for the show of confidence, Lima. Glad you were so certain that I’d be able to surprise my boyfriend.”

“Zayn, Niall and I had a bet, actually,” Liam admits as he settles into the couch across from them. “Niall’s the only one who thought you could pull it off; I’m sure he’ll be a pain in the arse about it for the next week.”

“Wait, you _all_ knew?” Harry asks, wide-eyed. He turns to Louis and pokes him in the chest. “I hate you.”

Louis laughs, and it’s maybe the most beautiful sound in the world. “You really, really don’t.”

Harry’s forced to concede that no, he doesn’t actually hate Louis; the word isn’t even in his vocabulary when it comes to him, really. They sit and talk for the better part of an hour, cuddled on the couch. Some part of Louis is always touching Harry and some part of Harry is always touching Louis; they’ve had three weeks apart and it’s far from the longest they’ve ever spent without seeing each other, but they still don’t want to let each other go quite yet.

Liam grants them this one favor and doesn’t say anything about their clinginess. Harry’s grateful for it; he’s used to them all teasing him and Louis about it but he’s not interested in fending them off today, not when he’s got Louis here in his arms.

Harry’s stomach rumbles in the midst of a discussion about a party they’ve decided to throw this weekend, and he asks Louis if he wants to order some takeout. He’s in the process of detangling his limbs from Louis’ and trying to figure out if they should order Chinese food or pizza when Liam speaks.

“Actually,” he says with a sneaky smile on his face. “I bought chicken and rice this morning. Figured wouldn’t want to go get groceries once you found out Lou was here.”

“Liam!” Harry beams. Liam is the best, really. He bends down to press a kiss to Liam’s cheek. “Thank you!”

Liam laughs and pushes Harry away. “You’re welcome, you’re welcome. Just tell me when you’re done cooking and I’ll come in.”

Louis follows him, fingers pressed against Harry’s lower back to push him forward. Once they're fully in the kitchen, Louis spins him around with his hands on Harry’s hips and presses him against the counter for a bruising kiss.

It’s only been three weeks since he bid Louis goodbye in the departures area of Heathrow Airport, but when Louis kisses him he feels like they’ve been separated for three years. Harry sinks into it, Louis’ chapped lips warm beneath his own. The two of them have shared thousands of kisses and plenty of _welcomebackimsogladyourehome_ kisses, but it still gets better every time.

“I can't believe you're here,” Harry says quietly, his forehead leaning against Louis’ when he pulls away to catch his breath. “I know I keep saying that, but I'm so _happy_. Best surprise ever.”

Louis grins, and the sight of it makes Harry’s heart go all swoopy. “Better believe it, baby, ‘cause I’m here. You gonna cook me dinner now as my reward?”

Harry kisses him again and then twirls around to open the fridge door. There’s chicken and pesto and rice sitting on the top shelf, and Liam is the biggest sneak in the world (second only maybe to Louis) and Harry is so, so thankful for him.

“How’s your mum?” Harry asks as he takes out the ingredients. When he turns back to drop them on the work surface, Louis has hoisted himself up on the counter to watch. It’s so _Louis_ that Harry can’t help but lean in for another kiss as he walks by to get a cutting board and a knife.

“She’s good. Says to tell you hi. She might actually love you more than I do, so I’m not sure if that’s something I should be worried about.”

“I might love her more than I love you, too,” Harry quips, and he earns a swift kick to the ass for that one.

“Oi, watch it. Never gonna invite you to come stay with my family ever again if you’re not careful,” Louis warns, teasing.

“Fine, cook your own dinner, then,” Harry answers as he cuts up a green pepper. Louis sticks out his tongue at him, and Harry adds the vegetables to the skillet on the stove. Everything about the whole thing is so _domestic_ that it hurts a little bit; it’s the good kind of hurt, though, the kind that reminds him that it’s going to be like this every day for the rest of his life, and that he’s never heard anything better.

“They loved having you though. Like, they’re proper in love with you,” Louis continues, biting back a yawn. Harry realizes suddenly that he must be exhausted; it’s a seven hour flight from London to Boston, and it’s past midnight on Louis’ body clock. He must have woken up ridiculously early this morning.

“I loved them too. I can’t believe I actually got to meet them after all this time.”

“Took long enough, though,” Louis says, watching appreciatively as Harry adds the chicken. He’s making pesto chicken and brown rice with vegetables, one of Louis’ favorite meals. God bless Liam for remembering.

It did take long enough, nearly two and a half years of dating for Harry to finally get over to England to meet Louis’ family. Talking to them on Skype all those times just wasn’t the same as meeting them in person, getting warm hugs from Louis’ mum and every member of his giant family, playing games with his siblings and answering a million and one questions about life in America.

“But I think,” Louis continues, “that Lottie might try to marry you if I don't.”

“Well,” Harry says, beaming smile slowly spreading over his face at the thought, “guess you'll just have to marry me first then, won't you?”

“I guess I will.”

There’s a grin on Louis’ face that Harry feels inordinately pleased at having put there, and there’s a moment as the food is cooking where they just kind of stare at each other, and Harry thinks _holy fuck we’re getting old_ and that leads to _I have nine months to figure out what to do with my life_ but also _Lou and I will figure it out, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine_.

It takes twenty minutes for the food to cook, and Harry’s about to suggest that they go unpack Louis’ things in the interim when Louis pulls him close by the side of his shirt and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I know I promised I’d fuck you when I got back,” he says quietly, and Harry would be lying if he said the thought Louis fulfilling that promise doesn’t send a thrill of heat up his spine. “But honestly, Haz, I’m too tired.”

Harry laughs, a little chuckle that just spills out of him, and then he puts his hands on either side of Louis’ jaw so that he can pull him back and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Tomorrow,” he says, already pleasantly warm at the thought of curling up in bed next to Louis and not having to sleep alone anymore. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Let’s just eat, and get some sleep, and then we’ll see what happens.”

*

“That was...wow,” Louis sighs as he rolls off Harry the next morning, his voice airy. His hair is matted to his forehead, sweat curling the ends, and when he flops down next to Harry, Harry just grins.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Can’t believe we barely did that all summer, only when we were in London.”

“We did it that one time at my house,” Louis says, and it takes Harry a second to remember what he means but then he starts giggling at the memory.

“Fine, I can’t believe barely did that _successfully_ all summer,” Harry says, because having to stop sex halfway through when Louis’ little brother barged into the room asking for ‘Hawwy, make breakfast?’ hardly counts as a success.

“Must be some kind of record for us,” Louis says forlornly, rolling over so that he’s resting his chin on Harry’s bare chest.

“A sex record?” Harry laughs. “I feel like there’s a pun there, but my brain’s too foggy to think of it.”

“Don’t you dare make a pun about our celibacy, Harold,” Louis orders, and Harry thinks that maybe Louis had just as rough a time not being with Harry for most of the summer as Harry did.

Well, he knows that for sure, because the string of dirty texts he received almost every day proved it.

Louis looks up at him with a grin, his hair messy from Harry’s fingers tugging through it. He looks cozy and sex glow-y and _happy_ , and that's all Harry’s ever wanted.

“Missed you so much,” Louis says softly, and they only spent two weeks together of the whole summer, which is more than they've had in previous summers, but it somehow felt longer than ever. Harder, too.

Okay, there’s _definitely_ a pun there but for the sake of his relationship, he's going to refrain.

*

Niall and Zayn come back from their road trip that afternoon, and there’s hugs all around and kisses on cheeks and as they sit on Zayn’s bedroom floor and drink beer (at three in the afternoon, because they’re in college and they can) while they watch him unpack, Harry has this overbearing feeling of _this is the last time we’ll ever do this, this is the last time it’ll ever be like this_.

He goes quiet at the thought and his mind wanders off, thinking about what’s going to happen next year. He doesn’t notice that Louis is trying to talk to him until he untangles their hands and scratches at the inside of his wrist.

“Hmm?” Harry murmurs as he watches Zayn fold a sweater Harry remembers seeing on him at the Christmas party sophomore year, and Louis smiles, like he knows exactly what’s going through Harry’s head.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop all the...thinking. It’s gonna be fine. We’re still at the start of it.” It’s something he both loves and loathes about Louis: nine times out of ten he knows what Harry’s thinking in any given situation.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry acknowledges, and then he’s distracted by Niall trying to convince Liam to wear one of Zayn’s most ridiculous shirts to the party they’re having tomorrow night.

He feels safe here, in this townhouse that’s become home over the past year and with his boys and especially with Louis, who's sitting on the floor next to him and gently stroking the inside of his wrist. He’s trying not to get overwhelmed by the whole thing, but it’s weird to simultaneously feel on top of the world and ridiculously uncertain about where his life is going.

“We should go to Target,” Louis says to the group abruptly once Zayn’s put all his stuff away and the room’s gone quiet. “Get stuff for the party.”

Harry feels something flutter in his chest because Louis will never say it, but he knows Louis is doing this for him. Harry _loves_ Target, the spotless floors and meticulously organized aisles and the illusion of productivity he gets when he walks through the doors. It has him throwing things he doesn’t need into the cart and handing over his credit card without a second’s hesitation and he only ever feels a little bad about it. It also serves as an excellent distraction technique, so Louis is the best boyfriend ever for suggesting it. (And for a million other things he’s done too, of course.)

Everyone’s in agreement, but Zayn is the only one who hasn’t been drinking and Niall is the only one with a car. He’s very protective of who he allows to drive it, and even with three years of friendship with Zayn under his belt, it’s still a struggle to get him to hand over the keys to Zayn.

“ _Please_ do not crash my baby,” Niall implores, one hand on the open passenger car door and the other dangling his keys just above Zayn’s waiting palm.

“Yes, sir,” Zayn says with a salute, and it shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but as they all pile into the car, Harry’s so grateful for all of them. They make each other laugh and poke fun at one another nonstop and are the most supportive people he’s ever known.

“I love you guys,” he says when they’re on the road, this feeling of being reunited with his favorite people too much for him to contain. “College would be so different without you.”

“Don’t get sappy on us yet, Harry,” Liam says with a laugh. “It’s too early for that.”

“That’s what I said, but he won’t stop,” Louis says.

They get to Target and Harry’s only a little bit embarrassed by the way he instantly feels calmed by walking in the doors. Louis slips his hand through his and they let Niall take a cart and lead the way.

They lose Liam for a little bit and when they find him again he’s in the movie aisle, digging through the $5 bin. He’s got a stack of films in his hand. Zayn plucks one of them right out of his hand and holds it up.

“Oh, I’ve seen that,” Louis announces. “It’s rubbish, don’t buy that.”

Liam smirks and throws it into the cart. “Excellent. We’re getting it.”

“You’re not seriously going to buy all these, are you?” Harry asks, eyes wide as Liam puts four more into their shopping cart.

“They’re only five bucks, it’s a steal.”

“You’ve heard of Netflix, right? Much better options than these shitty horror films you’re trying to get,” Louis retorts.

“Sorry, who was the one that’s buying a banana chopper?”

Harry scoffs. “That is _useful_! I eat a lot of bananas!”

“Yeah, and you could just cut them with a knife, which we already have plenty of,” Liam shoots back. Harry just rolls his eyes; the banana chopper _is_ a useful purchase, plus it’s cute and banana-shaped and _yellow_.

“If Harry wants to get the banana chopper, let him get it,” Louis answers, stepping in front of Harry like he needs to protect him. _Right, as if_. “And you can get the DVDs. But after this, I swear, no more stupid purchases.”

Liam cheers in victory at the same time that Harry turns to look at Louis with a pout. “You think the banana chopper is stupid?”

Louis sighs. “No, babe, a banana chopper isn’t stupid.”

Harry beams and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek, and he doesn’t even say anything when three minutes later Niall shows up with some cheesy chalkboard sign that he insists they hang in their entryway.

Louis huffs and mutters something about house finances, but in the end, they all get what they want.

It’s senior year, after all.

*

They’re in the middle of their own party when Louis comes up to Harry and asks if he wants to get waffles at their favorite diner, and _fuck yeah_ , there is no world in which Harry ever says no to midnight waffles with his boyfriend.

They go to the diner and chat with Helen, their favorite server, and they tangle their feet together under the table, and between the fruit-loaded waffles and the coffee, Harry’s sobering up and he’s also just _happy_ . Louis has been back for two days now and their last first day of school is the day after tomorrow (well, technically tomorrow, now that it's after midnight, but _semantics_ ) and he just feels so lucky to be here with him.

Louis kicks him lightly in the shin and he knows he’s caught the dopey look on his face, but, honestly, Harry doesn’t care right now. He thrilled to be hanging out with Louis one on one. He’s been back for two days now and they’ve had sex exactly one time and spent the majority of their time with their roommates. And Harry loves them, would fight to the death for them, but he kind of needs to hang out with Louis by himself. Few things simultaneously settle him and thrill him the way that Louis does.

He’s always inordinately sappy about Louis, but even more so when they’ve been apart for an extended period of time and are finally back together. He feels full of all the things that he could say to Louis, but more than that he wants to press them against his naked skin; however, he doesn’t necessarily want to admit them all in a diner at two in the morning, no matter how much they love the place.

Harry pays the bill and they walk back to campus hand in hand, warm summer air brushing their skin like a blanket.

“Think the party’s over by now?”

“I doubt it,” Harry says. “Niall’s probably still playing beer pong and Liam’s probably still with Sophia and there’s bound to be someone neither of us know sleeping on the couch.”

It’s not entirely inaccurate. The party’s mostly wound down by now, and the living room is an utter disaster, red Solo cups strewn everywhere and the blanket from the couch piled in the corner and is that -- _bacon_ stuck to the wall? Harry shakes his head and vows to deal with it tomorrow. He settles for pulling Louis up the stairs to their bedroom instead.

“Thanks for the waffles, babe,” Louis says as he crowds Harry up against the door once they’re inside. They’d managed to escape upstairs with only a few words said to Liam and Zayn, who were chatting to people in the kitchen.

“Anytime,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips. “Except next time you’re totally paying.”

“Hey,” Louis protests, but the rest of the words die in his throat as Harry reaches down to lift Louis’ shirt by the hem and pull it over his head. He drops a kiss to Louis’ left shoulder and then the right, and if yesterday morning’s sex was hurried and frantic, everything about tonight already feels slow and intentional, like they’re going to take each other apart and bring each other to the edge over and over again before they finally let go.

Louis takes off Harry’s shirt in a practiced motion and presses their chests together. Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ hair and grinds up against Louis sharply, just once, enough to feel that Louis needs this just as much as he does. Louis lets out a groan and grinds up against him again, and then scratches his fingernails across the tops of Harry’s bare shoulders. Harry feels a shiver run down his spine at the touch.

They quickly get rid of their shorts and then Harry’s pushing Louis backward, toward the bed where Harry slept alone all summer but doesn’t have to do so anymore. Louis’s thighs hit the side and he falls back, scrambling up so that his head is on the pillows. Harry pulls off Louis’ socks and then his own, and then finally, _finally_ crawls on top of him.

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Harry says quietly once he’s got Louis naked and spread out on their bed before him. He’s hovering over him, staying there just so he can admire him. “I love you more than anyone else in the world, but it’s not just the sex. I love that no matter what I do with you, it’s more fun just because you’re there. You just make everyone around you so happy, and I’m so lucky that I get to be a part of that.” His words are honest confessions, things he’s been thinking about for a long time, and he’s pretty sure Louis knows all of that but he needs him to hear it again anyway.

There’s a wet sheen to Louis’ eyes and Harry’s words are the kind of thing that he might normally make fun of Harry for, but for once he doesn’t.

“Babe…” Louis swallows hard, and it's a beautiful movement that highlights the long column of his neck as the moonlight streams in from the window and illuminates his face. Harry suddenly feels reverent looking at him, wants to press promises into his skin and fingers against his hip bones, wants to do anything this boy asks, would move mountains for him. “I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm so glad I get to share my life with you.”

Harry’s breath hitches and his smile softens into something smaller, softer, just for Louis. He feels flushed all over, feels full of emotion, feels like if he doesn't get it all out soon he’s going to burst.

“I’m so glad I get to be with you forever,” he says as he trails his fingers across Louis’ jaw and slots his leg in between Louis’. “I can’t imagine not waking up to you every day. Tell me I never have to.”

“You don’t, you don’t,” Louis gets out as he presses kisses to Harry’s face and scratches his fingernails down Harry’s back. “I swear it, you’ll never have to. Just you, you’re the only one.”

There’s more Harry could say, so much more, but they have time. They have so, so much time. He leans in to kiss Louis instead, long and hard, and as he takes him apart piece by piece, he can’t imagine being anywhere else.

*

Harry wakes the next morning to Louis’s fingertips on his face, feather light as they push back his curls and trace his jaw. He leans into it like a kitten, the motion both comforting and familiar.

“Wake up sleepyhead, I’ve been awake for ages. Last day of summer,” Louis says quietly. “Don’t want to waste it.”

Harry groans and reluctantly turns away from Louis, who sounds like he’s standing by the bed. Harry’s not going to open his eyes to check. “Too early,” Harry gets out, the words muffled through his pillow. “Stayed up too late. Why did we do that?”

“You weren’t complaining about any of that last night,” Louis says through a little laugh. “And it’s nearly ten, it’s not that early.”

“You never wake up before eleven if you have a choice,” Harry protests half-heartedly. All he wants is Louis back in bed next to him, his arms pulling Harry close as they both fall asleep again.

“The time change is messing with me still, I keep waking up early. Come on, into the kitchen, let’s go.”

“‘M too tired,” Harry groans, and he rolls back over, squinting at Louis standing next to him, backlit by the sun streaming through the curtains. “Come back to bed. We can take a nap.” He reaches out to tug at Louis’ wrist, trying to pull him back, but Louis just laughs and pulls away.

“Made you breakfast, babe,” Louis says softly. “Hurry up before someone else eats it all.”

Harry makes an appreciative little noise. “What’d you make?” He stretches like a lion just waking up from a long nap, limbs taut and going in four different directions as he feels the stretch through his whole body.

“Breakfast bagels. With bacon,” Louis says as Harry curls up into the fetal position and stares at him. He’s wearing joggers and one of Harry’s t-shirts, and that shouldn't send a thrill down his spine after they've been together for this long, but it does anyway.

“ _You_ made breakfast bagels?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow as he swings off the bed and drops a kiss to Louis’ forehead. They don’t have any bagels in the house.

“Well, I went to the cafe around the corner and got them,” Louis admits sheepishly. “But it’s still breakfast, so hurry up, I’m starved.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry grumbles as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and the nearest shirt. “Lead the way.”

*

Niall makes them all take a group photo on the first day of school.

“Come on, get together, let’s go! Some of us have class soon,” Niall orders as he extends the arm holding the selfie stick. Louis had bought it for him as a joke last Christmas in their roommate Secret Santa exchange, expecting it’d stay in his room collecting dust, but Niall uses it at least once a week.

“Would you all hurry up, I'd love to get back to bed sometime in this century,” Zayn grumbles, unhappy about being woken up this early.

“Might I remind you,” Louis says in a sharp tone as he pulls Harry in by the waist and drapes an arm around Niall’s shoulder, “that you have forced us to be in like, a hundred of your video projects.”

“And not a single one of those have ever taken place before ten AM,” Zayn retorts, even as he crouches in next to Liam.

“Because you're never awake!” Liam cries.

“Those videos have made you semi-famous on Youtube, you wouldn’t have gotten that gig at the coffee shop without them,” Zayn retorts, and _wow_ that’s a low blow, because Zayn’s vlogs, originally a freshman year class project, have gained a lot of traction, but they’re not the reason that Liam’s a good singer.

“Would the two of you _please_ shut up and smile, come on, I have to get to class. Say ‘last first day of school!’”

Niall snaps about seven pictures before Zayn stands up and pulls away from the group. “Alright, no more, I’m going back to bed. Don’t wake me ‘til eleven.”

Liam just pouts at him, but Harry’s willing to bet that the whole thing will be forgotten by the time Zayn wakes up again. He gets mad and says things he doesn’t mean. They all do.

“Have a nice sleep,” Niall coos. Zayn slams the door in response. “Well,” Niall laughs, “the rest of you have a lovely day, I’ll miss you.” He pinches each of their cheeks and leaves.

“He’s worse than my mum sometimes, honestly,” Harry grumbles as he and Louis head to the kitchen. “You want some tea?”

“Please,” Louis says with the smile he uses when he’s trying to get his way. “Maybe with one of those raspberry scones you made yesterday? And did I say thank you for making them?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but they both know he’s going to indulge him anyway. He fills the kettle with water and flicks on the stove before moving over to the pantry to grab the Tupperware from a shelf. He takes two out, and then Louis is grabbing him by the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him close and crowding him up against the fridge. He slips his hands under the thin fabric of Harry’s t-shirt, fingernails scratching lightly at his lower back, and Harry lets out a little whine.

“The scones,” Harry manages to say as Louis nips at his jaw, hoping he’ll understand what he means. He holds his hands out behind Louis’ back, one scone in his palm, trying to keep them safe as Louis sucks what’s sure to be a purple lovebite into his neck. Of course. Just what he needs on the first day of school.

Luckily Louis is well in tune with Harry by now, so he pulls his hands out from under Harry’s shirt and turns, scooping the scones out of Harry’s palms and putting them safely on the counter before moving back in. Harry can touch him now, can run his hands down Louis’ back and slip his hands inside the waistband of his jeans, resting them there just above his ass.

There’s not enough time for anything more than this right now, not when Harry has to go to class in a half hour, but Harry leans into it and kisses him anyway. Louis presses him right against the fridge, and something clatters to the ground; he distantly thinks it must be one of the magnets. The sound doesn’t distract either of them, and Harry feels slowly warmed, like a sunflower turning its head to the sunlight. That’s what being with Louis is like: constantly being surrounded by the sun.

*

“Good morning, and welcome to the first day of the rest of your life,” the professor says from the front of the classroom, and Harry’s heart rate picks up. Because, holy shit, he’s a _senior_. “Or as the university likes to call it, your Elementary Ed practicum. Let’s get started.”

She flicks off the lights and the classroom is cloaked in darkness as she launches into a powerpoint about their practicum placements. Harry’s been assigned to a public school in the heart of the city, one where he’ll be teaching twice a week. He starts in three weeks; he’s trying not to panic about it.

It’s just a bit scary, is all, the fact that he’s been working to become an art teacher for three years now and he’s going to have students of his own in just a few short days. He still feels like a kid; how on earth is he supposed to lead lessons by himself?

 _You’ll be okay,_ Louis has told him over and over. _You’re the best person I know, and you’re so good with kids. You’re going to be the most fantastic teacher, Harry, I know it._ Sometimes it’s whispered words when he’s trying to fall asleep at night and can’t tame the racing thoughts in his brain, sometimes it’s part of a larger conversation in the produce aisle at the grocery store.

It’s what he wants; he knows it is. He came to college expecting to become an artist, and then second semester of freshman year he volunteered at an after school club leading kids’ activities. He walked into the building and it was like a realization sliding into place: _I want to do this for the rest of my life._ It was like he stepped out the door two hours later and was pulled under a tidal wave, slow and crashing, a thundering force.

It was kind of that way with Louis, too, that sudden sharp realization of _oh, okay, this is what it’s going to be_. If walking out of the after school club was a tidal wave, Louis was like a crash of lightning, a phenomenal force of nature that came into his life, and Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. Still can’t, really, when it comes down to it.

It’s not his fault though. Anyone who comes into his path experiences it. Louis has this aura about him, that thing that reels people in and traps them. And Harry is perfectly happy to be trapped.

*

“I don’t want to do school anymore,” Louis complains one night a few days later.

“Good thing you’re almost done then,” Harry says as he boops him on the nose and tangles his fingers with Louis’ again on his chest. Louis scrunches up his face; he tries to act like he hates it, but try as he might, he knows Louis can’t deny that he actually loves the teasing. At his core, Louis is the most romantic person he knows, but so much of the way he shows affection is by mocking. It’s just the way they’ve always been, bantering mixed in with sweet nothings in equal amounts.

They’re on the couch, Harry’s head in Louis’ lap as they watch an early episode of _Friday Night Lights_. Coach Taylor is yelling at Tim Riggins, and they’ve just finished a conversation about who’s hotter: Tim or Jason Street. Harry thinks Jason, all sharp jawline and a bright smile, but Louis insists that it’s Tim, long haired and broody. Harry’s pretty sure they’re just picking things they like about each other, and the debate will likely never be resolved.

“No, it’s like...more than that,” Louis says quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I want to be a social worker anymore,” Louis says, and Harry’s fingers still in Louis’ hand. He thought they were just talking about that feeling of _I don’t want to write papers or go to class anymore_ but no, Louis is talking about something much deeper. He’s talking about an actual career change.

“Okay, explain,” Harry says quietly, and Louis reaches over for the remote to pause the television. Oh, so this is a Serious Conversation then. It’s one of the rare times that they’re the only ones in the apartment, and normally they’d be taking advantage of it to have very loud sex, but apparently today they’re going to talk about the future instead.

Harry sits up and scoots to the end of the couch, and Louis does the same so that their feet meet in the middle. If they’re actually gonna talk about this, they need to be able to see each other. The others like to make fun of them for how one look can tell what the other is thinking, but it can come in handy, knowing each other this well. Louis stares at him, his mouth set in a thin line, and Harry stares back. Louis has to be the one to speak first.

“So, I don’t think that this is what I want to do.” He says it calmly, but Harry knows him well enough to know that there’s a bit of tension underneath.

“I thought you’ve wanted to be a social worker since you were thirteen,” Harry says; there’s nothing accusatory in it, just a statement of a simple fact, because that’s what Louis has always told him.

“I know,” Louis says, pinching the skin of his ring finger as he tries to think of a better answer. Harry can see the wheels turning in his head, and for for all that Louis can talk anyone’s ear off in regular conversation, he needs time to process serious things.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Harry prods gently.

Louis coughs, looks down at his feet. “I guess, uh… a couple months?”

A couple _months?_ “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was kind of hoping it was all in my head,” Louis admits. “But I’ve gone to class all week and I cannot imagine doing this for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry says, his voice quiet. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, and the crack in his voice shatters something in Harry’s heart.

“We’ll figure it out. We will.”

*

The first chill of autumn sweeps in on the same day Leigh-Anne announces her engagement to her boyfriend Caden. It’s not exactly unexpected; they’ve been dating since they were high school sophomores and they’re attached at the hip. It’s still weird to think that Leigh-Anne is going to get _married_ , that in a year she’s going to be someone’s wife. It seems hard to accept that _any_ of them are old enough for those things, that they’re actually adults who can make permanent life decisions by themselves. He’s so happy for her though, knows that Caden’s the best possible partner she could have, balancing her out and making her stronger.

Thinking about that makes him think all kinds of sappy thoughts about Louis, who definitely makes _him_ stronger. It makes him want to write a thousand love songs dedicated to Louis’ cheekbones, to the way he looks when he’s just woken up, to the way he does things for Harry that Harry didn’t even know he needed. And then he wants to turn around and write another thousand songs all about Louis’ ass.

“So, when’s this gonna be you and Lou?” Perrie slurs as she pours Harry a drink. She’s used a little too much vodka but it’s a Friday night in late September and Harry’s a college _senior_ ; he can’t be bothered to care about what he should be doing. Plus, Perrie’s asking him when he’s finally going to make Louis his _spouse_ , and he’s three drinks in but that thought makes him feel more light-headed than anything else.

“One day,” Harry says, trying to seem mysterious. It probably doesn’t work.

“But you _are_ gonna get married, right? I can’t wait to see you two get married,” she says wistfully. She looks a bit like a drunk fairy princess, hair piled up on her head and a flowy dress clinging to her waist and a bright pink cocktail glass in her hand.

“Yeah, we’re gonna get married,” Harry says, probably in that same dreamy tone he always takes on whenever he thinks about it. He and Louis have talked about it; they already know that they're going to spend the rest of their lives together. Louis even called dibs on proposing, which gets Harry a bit woozy in the best possible way.

“Oi,” Louis calls, strolling into the kitchen and making a beeline for them, “are you trying to steal Perrie away from me?” He plants a sloppy kiss on Perrie’s cheek and wraps both arms around her waist to pull her close. Harry pouts; he’s been looking for Louis for _ages_ , and now he’s here and he’s hanging over his _other_ best friend.

“We were just talking about when the two of _you_ are going to get married,” Perrie says, noticing Harry’s pout and pulling Louis closer in a way that’s _definitely_ on purpose. She and Louis are both terrible.

“Eh, don’t think I want to saddle myself with this one for life,” Louis says with a cock of his head, sticking out his tongue at Harry. “I just keep him around cause he cooks for me. I’m on the hunt for someone else anyway.”

Harry frowns and takes another sip of his drink. “You’re the worst, I’m never having sex with you again.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, smirking. “Good luck finding someone else who can do that thing with their tongue you love so much--”

“Okay, enough!” Perrie screeches, pulling herself away from Louis and pushing him toward Harry. “Go make out in a closet or something, I don’t need to hear any more about your sex life than I already do.”

“Who’s going into a closet?” Niall asks, and--

“Niall!” Harry yells, going over to him and wrapping him in a big hug. Alcohol sloshes out of his cup onto the floor, but as long as it doesn’t hit anyone’s shoes he can’t really be bothered to care right now. He’ll clean it up later; he always does. “You made it!”

“Sorry, I’m late,” he says, hugging Harry back, “kinda wishing I’d never joined this fraternity. So much stupid shit we have to do. What are we talking about?”

“Perrie and Lou are bein’ mean to me,” Harry slurs, “and Lou doesn’t want to marry me anymore.”

Niall’s mouth drops in exaggerated shock. “Well, that won’t do. Sorry Lou, I’m gonna take your boy away from you now cause you don’t appreciate him. Let’s go play beer pong with Zayn.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis and then follows Niall to the living room.

*

Harry has his first student teaching day at the elementary school on Tuesday, and he wakes to a quiet apartment; the earliest class any of them have is at nine, so it’s rare that anyone is up before eight. It’s six thirty right now, and Harry is feeling every bit of that extra hour and a half, the tiredness sinking into his bones and weighing them down.

He probably shouldn’t have let Louis give him that good luck blowjob last night, he thinks mournfully. He might have gone to sleep earlier if that hadn’t turned into ‘let me return the favor.’ Worth it, though, he thinks as he quickly washes his hair. It’s always worth it with Louis.

He drops a quick kiss to Louis’ forehead just before he leaves and gets a muttered “good luck, Hazza” in return. He’s tried to hide how terrified he is but he’s fairly certain that Louis can see right through it; that was probably the whole point of the blowjob in the first place, actually. The nerves are back as he boards the train, trying not to fiddle with his shirt or his pants or mess up his hair. He and Louis had spent twenty minutes last night deciding the appropriate number of buttons that were acceptable for a kid’s classroom; Harry thought four but Louis insisted five.

“Ease into it, Harold,” Louis advised, sitting in just his boxers in the middle of their bed and blatantly ogling Harry. “The kids don’t need to see your full chest on day one.”

Eventually they’d come to a compromise and gone with five.

(Louis’ version of a compromise is not a compromise at all.)

His mentor teacher introduces him to the third graders as Mr. Styles, and hearing that said out loud makes him feel old. He’s not supposed to be a Mr. or anyone’s teacher; he's just a kid himself, one who can’t always figure out what he wants to eat for breakfast. Yet these kids think he’s a grownup, a real adult who’s responsible, and he doesn't know how to address that dichotomy in his brain.

He had no real reason to be nervous; Mr. Menino is friendly and understanding and gives him a lot of tips throughout the day of how he can succeed at Barron Elementary. He’ll be helping with first, third and sixth grades, and today they focused on line drawing in all the classes. Harry’s not great at line drawing; he prefers painting or more hands-on crafts, but he has to admit that there’s something special about seeing the kids depict their bedrooms, all the different aspects of their personalities shining through.

“So, are you a _grownup_ , Mr. Styles?” One of the girls in the first grade class asks that afternoon as he helps her sharpen her colored pencils. She’s cute, pigtails and a red dress that she insisted on covering with an apron so it didn’t get dirty. “Because you don’t look very old.”

Harry laughs; he certainly doesn’t feel old. “Sort of,” he says. “I’m 21.”

Olivia’s eyes go comically wide. “ _Twenty-one_? Wow, you’re old. Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Is she pretty?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Harry explains, “but no, we’re not married. Probably one day.”

“Do you love him?” Her eyes are wide and her expression wistful, like she can’t wait for the day that she gets to have this conversation about herself and the one she loves.

Harry smiles, thinking of Louis spread out in bed this morning, the duvet pushed down to expose the sharp curves of his shoulder and back as he slept, the light casting dancing spots across his bare skin. Thinks of how all he wanted to do was crawl back in with him, back into his safe space, back with the one person he can trust above all else. Thinks about how he can’t wait to go back home and make him laugh.

“Yeah, Olivia. I do. I love him a lot.”

*

The apartment is quiet when Harry gets home that afternoon, and sunlight streams into the living room, illuminating the television and showing Harry that everything could use a good dusting. He might as well do that now and get it over with while everyone else is out, he thinks, and so he goes into his room to drop off his backpack before getting cleaning supplies.

Louis is sitting on the bed, his back to the door, shoulders hunched in a round line. An audible sound of sniffling. The dusting is quickly forgotten as Harry drops his bag to the floor and says, “Lou?”

There’s a flurry of movement then, Lou wiping his eyes and turning to him and saying, “Hey,” but it’s in a soft tone and his eyes are red and it’s clear something is not right. His very presence here signals trouble; he’s supposed to be in his statistics class right now.

“Lou,” Harry says, crossing the room in quick strides to get to the other side of the bed. “Lou, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine,” Louis says, rubbing his eyes and standing up. “How was your first day?”

“It was good,” Harry answers distractedly, eyebrows pinched as he puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder and gently pushes him back down. He sits next to him and reaches out for Louis’ hand, praying he won’t pull away. He doesn’t, and that’s a good sign. “What’s going on, Lou? Why aren't you in class?”

He looks down at his bare feet on the floor, but he doesn’t offer an explanation, just heaves a shaky sigh instead and stays silent.

“Lou, you’re scaring me a little bit,” Harry says, and when Louis doesn’t say anything, Harry puts two fingers under his chin so that he’s forced to make eye contact. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Harry. Tell me about your first day. How were the kids?” Louis says with a smile, but it’s too fake; it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Lou, stop stalling. What happened?”

He heaves another heavy sigh and pulls his legs up onto the bed with his, hugging them close to his chest. The angle is awkward and he has to separate their hands to do it. “I went to meet with my advisor today, and I told her that I don’t want to be a social worker anymore.”

Harry hisses on a sharp inhale; they’d talked about it the other day but nothing had really gotten resolved. Louis didn’t tell him that he was going to see an advisor, but that’s probably for the best.

Or, maybe not, because Louis is sitting here crying.

“What’d she say?” Harry kicks off his shoes and crawls onto the bed properly, leaning against the headboard. Louis shifts so that he’s facing him, legs crisscrossed in front of him, but they’re not touching. Harry wishes that Louis would come closer and let him try to soothe the pain away.

“She said that I need to accept one of the grad schools I applied for, if I get one obviously, because otherwise I won’t be allowed to stay in the country once my student visa’s up.”

Harry’s blood runs cold. Louis is only here on a student visa, one that runs out a few weeks after graduation. It obviously hasn’t been a problem until now, and he’s taken it for granted that Louis gets to be here. But if he doesn’t have a reason to stay, they’ll send him back.

It’s why he’s already applied to grad school programs; his options for staying in America are essentially to get a job that’s willing to sponsor him (which can be difficult) or continue in school. They’ve talked about it once before, last year, but back then it felt like a hazy problem for a future Harry and Louis. Well, the future is now.

“So basically I’d be going to study something I don’t want to study, and have massive student loans but be allowed to stay, or I can try to find a new career but I might have to go home in the meantime,” Louis summarizes, and he finally makes eye contact with Harry. He looks broken, and Harry realizes belatedly that he must have been sitting here crying about this for quite some time now.

“Lou…”

“And I don’t want to _leave_ , like I want to stay here forever, but it takes forever to become a citizen and I don’t even really want to do that, I just don’t want to leave _you_.”

Harry’s brain is racing, trying to think of a solution, but there’s nothing going through his head that would be a suitable response. They still have time, but the situation is kind of pressing; any solution will take months to implement. Louis is right; there’s no sense in spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a degree he doesn’t even want.

“What if you apply to other grad programs?”

“I have no clue what else I want to do, though,” Louis says, and it’s almost a wail.

“Okay, come here,” Harry says, opening his body for Louis to come and slot himself along Harry’s side. “We’re gonna figure it out. What do you like doing?”

“What are you doing, trying to career counsel me?” Louis says, the ensuing laugh sharp and bitter. “Because I did that, and she basically told me that I would be a fool to change my major senior year.”

“I’m trying to help you find a solution,” Harry says as calmly as he can, because he knows Louis is just snapping at him because he’s stressed. It doesn’t make the words any easier to hear.

“I don’t know. I like music, I like football, I like hanging out with you. Hey, maybe I can do that for work. Just hang out with you all day.”

Harry giggles gently. “I don’t think that’s a job, love.”

“But imagine if it were: personal assistant to Harry Styles. Follow you around, entertain you, talk about how great you are. Basically do that already. It’s a tough job.”

“Excuse me.”

“The pay’s pretty good though,” Louis teases, slipping his hands under Harry’s shirt and resting his palms on his chest. Harry’s stomach jumps at the feeling, abs contracting sharply for a split second, and Louis grins.

“You are a dirty, dirty boy,” Harry answers, his voice low and gravelly like he knows Louis wants to hear. Louis just smirks, and then the two of them are quiet again.

“We could get married,” Harry says quietly. “Then you’d be my husband, and you could get a permanent resident visa that way.”

He’s not sure what he expected Louis to say, but it certainly wasn’t Louis flinching and pulling his head up.

“No.” He pulls his hands away from Harry’s stomach and uh oh, that is not a good sign.

“No?” Harry’s trying not to act hurt, but what is he supposed to think? “You don’t want to marry me?”

“No, no, Harry, of course I want to marry you,” Louis hurries, one hand reaching up to brush hair off Harry’s forehead, “but like...not like this. Not like it’s a thing we’re forced into doing. Not for an ulterior motive.”

“But if we’re going to get married anyway, what’s really the difference?”

Louis sighs, and Harry knows that he’s pushed him too far. “You’re the one that’s gone on about dark suits and bright flowers and a string quartet for years, Harry. You want the real deal. That’s what you deserve. Not something that was thrown together at the last minute just because I need a visa.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about that as much as I care about getting to be with you,” Harry says, his voice low and honest.

There’s a pause, and when Louis speaks again, his voice has an air of finality to it, like the topic is no longer up for discussion. “We’re not gonna do it that way. We’re gonna get married, but we’re doing it the right way.”

Harry sighs, but he nods anyway. Louis tucks himself in against his side again, and he grabs Harry’s hand and starts playing with his ring around his middle finger, twisting it around and around.

“Remember when I got this for you for freshman year Secret Santa?”

“You mean, do I remember how you traded and cheated your way through the game so that you would get me as your Secret Santa?”

Louis swats him on the stomach with his free hand. “Oi, that is _not_ what happened.”

“Oh, so are you saying that you didn’t trade with Niall to get me? That you didn’t swap so that you could get me a present because you were in love with me?”

“I would have gotten you a present either way,” Louis says, a pretty blush rising to his cheeks. “But fine, yes, I bought it because I was in love with you and too scared to tell you.”

“We were a bit stupid, weren’t we?” Harry asks, and they seem to have this conversation every six months, and the more time that he puts between himself and the version of himself that was eighteen years old and hopelessly in love with his best friend, the more sympathy he feels for that boy.

“The stupidest,” Louis agrees. “I think I was in love with you six weeks after we met.”

Harry smiles, remembering how he and Louis used to cram into one twin bed and spend the night tangled together, how jealous he was whenever Louis would look at another guy, how it still took him until Thanksgiving and a not-so-gentle push from his sister to realize that he’d been in love with Louis for weeks.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry says with a soft smile.

“Tell me again what its gonna be like,” Louis orders as he snuggles back into Harry’s side. “In the future, when it’s you and me.”

Harry smiles, because this is a game they like to play when things are hard, dreaming about the future. “Well, we’re gonna live together in a place that’s all ours, and it’ll probably be really small but it’ll be _home_. And we’ll probably have a shitty secondhand couch that’s some ugly pattern that you’ll love and I’ll hate, but I’ll put up with it cause you love it. Maybe we’ll get a cat, and we’ll eat breakfast together every morning. We’ll fight and make up, and we’ll have little plants, and when we put something somewhere it’ll still be there when we get home because there won’t be any roommates to move our stuff. I’ll cook for you all the time, and we’ll watch TV on the shitty couch at night, and we can have all the loud sex we want without anyone yelling at us to keep it down, and--”

“So it’ll be kinda like now except better,” Louis cuts in.

“Way better,” Harry agrees. “Because we won’t have school, and instead we’ll actually be getting paid, and our place will be homey and we can have people over whenever we want, and it’ll be me and you, from when we wake up to when we go to bed. We can go on so many weekend adventures, and we’ll maintain our place, and then one day we’ll get engaged, and we’ll have our dream wedding, and then we’ll be together forever.”

The words settle in the air, heavy like a cloak, and Harry allows himself to imagine it. Sees himself waking up in the morning, curled around Louis and not worried about whatever else is going on in the apartment. Sees himself hanging out with him in the kitchen making sandwiches, sees them cooking something on the stove and letting it burn because they’re too busy kissing to notice. Sees himself coming home to Louis after work, sees them arguing and fixing it and being stronger for it. Sees him and Louis, always and forever.

The emotions it all stirs up are too much for him to deal with right now, so he rolls over, presses Louis into the mattress with the full length of his body, and kisses him until the world falls away.

*

The cafe is filled with the quiet buzzing of patrons: hushed talking, laptop keys clicking, teacups hitting saucers with little dings. But none of those sounds are why Harry’s here; he’s here to see Liam perform. He has a weekly gig at a coffee shop around the block from the student center, and Harry tries to see it whenever he can.

He sips his latte while Liam performs, his eyes on his friend rather than on the textbooks in front of him. Liam is good, _really_ good, and while he draws quite the crowd, Harry still whoops and hollers louder than anyone else when he finishes.

“Thanks so much for coming,” Liam says as he comes over to give Harry a hug. They've been friends for three years now and Liam is _still_ always amazed when Harry comes to support him. “Wait, where’s Soph?”

His eyes dart around the cafe, looking for his girlfriend. Right. Harry takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Liam’s eyes when he says, “She’s uh, not here. I'm sorry.”

Liam drops into the chair next to Harry, limbs going lax with the motion. His guitar is propped up against the table. “What do you mean?”

“She texted me and said she couldn't make it.”

Liam furrows his eyebrows in that way he does when he's stressed, and Harry can tell he’s trying not to show it. “She never texted me,” he finally says, voice quiet.

“Are you guys -- I mean, are you two--” He’s hesitant; he doesn’t know how to ask if they’re doing okay, because he’s fairly certain they’re not.

“I think it’s ending,” Liam cuts in. He sounds matter of fact about it, but there’s a crease between his eyebrows and his eyes look defeated.

“Why?” Harry asks before he can think of a more tactful way to ask someone why their two year relationship is falling apart.

Liam shrugs. Casual isn’t a good look on him, not about emotional topics like this. “I just think she’s not in it as much as I am anymore. And I _know_ that all relationships have up and downs, I know sometimes one person needs to pull a little more weight for a while,  but I don’t think she even wants to try anymore.”

Harry swallows and puts his hand over Liam’s, anchoring him to the table. He doesn't know what to say. “Li…”

That's when Liam breaks down, pulling his hand away and covering his face as he starts to cry. It's quiet, but Liam is still _crying in public_ , and that's how Harry knows this is the real deal.

“I just don't think we can fix it this time. I don't think she cares enough. And I -- I thought we were gonna get _married_. What do I do, Haz?”

Harry opens his arms and Liam stands and just folds himself into them, his face pressed tight to Harry’s shoulder. He’s walked friends through breakups before; friends from class and people from back home and most heartbreakingly, Niall and his girlfriend at the end of last year. But he doesn’t feel good at it, because he doesn’t know what it’s like. All he knows how to do is be there for someone, a place for them to cry.

Louis has told him that sometimes that’s all you need, that it doesn’t have to be more than that. Harry hopes it’s enough. He also hopes that he never has to go through that kind of pain, because it sounds _awful_. He already feels like Louis is his whole heart; he can’t imagine what it would be like to have it ripped out of his chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” Liam sobs. “She’s the only person I’ve ever loved. What if there’s never anyone else?”

“Oh, Liam,” Harry says, and he realizes that it’s not about putting him back together, but being there to pick up the pieces when they fall.

*

“Louis, can you please put in headphones?” Harry asks, teeth gritted in irritation.

“I told you, I don't hear the music as well if I use headphones,” Louis says, stopping his pacing around the kitchen (he’s called it dancing, but Harry has seen dancing and this is most definitely not that) for just a moment to take a sip of his water.

Harry sighs heavily, long and loud and entirely for Louis to hear, and then pinches the skin on the inside of his wrist to stop himself from saying something he doesn't mean.

It's just that Louis is being really fucking annoying right now, prancing around the kitchen to some kind of French rap while he ‘listens for the beat’ or some other weird bullshit that's apparently supposed to help him find a career path. Harry’s all for that, but he’d prefer Louis to put in headphones. And preferably do it in their bedroom. Or outside. Harry doesn’t care where he does it as long as he shuts up and leaves him alone for twenty minutes.

Louis doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, no matter how long Harry sighs in an exasperated manner or clicks his pen. He keeps singing words that Harry can’t understand, which is annoying. He finally at least switches it to an English-speaking channel, but Harry can’t concentrate on lesson plans at _all_ when there’s Louis playing some banal pop song and skipping around their tiny kitchen.

“Would you _please_ stop it, Louis? You’re pissing me off.”

“I’m pissing _you_ off?” Louis retorts. “This is the kitchen. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Yes, Louis, I _know_ that. But can you please do your dancing thing somewhere else? I’m trying to actually work. Don’t you have someone else that you can annoy?”

“Someone else I can _annoy_? I’m trying to work too! I thought you were supportive of what I was trying to do. It’s not just me that I’m doing this for, it’s for you too. Unless you’ve forgotten that the whole reason I need a job is so that I can stay here with you.” Louis has his hands on his hips and he’s on the defensive. The anger has already gone out of Harry, he doesn’t even really _want_ to argue anymore, but there’s a fight brewing inside of Louis and preparing to spill out and Harry has a hard time backing down when he’s provoked.

“Yes, I know that, Louis, but I’m trying to work on lesson planning. I need a big space, and the desk in our room isn’t big enough.”

“Come on, it’s not like you do real work at that school anyway, can’t you just do it later?”

Harry’s mouth drops open. What in the actual hell? He thinks that maybe he’s heard wrong, but nope, Louis really did just suggest that what Harry does at the school for his student teaching isn’t worth doing. Louis, who studied something for three years and applied to graduate programs and now wants to turn that all on his head now that he’s at the end of it. Well, that’s really rich of him.

“Well, it’s not like you do anything, now that you’re just fucking around and thinking about abandoning your whole degree.”

“That is _not_ what I’m doing and you know it. And even if it was, at least I’m trying to think about what I want to do and trying to fix it. I have loans, you know. We can’t all get our stepdads to pay for college.”

Harry slams his textbook shut and stands up, gathering his previously-organized papers into a messy bundle as he goes. “I’m going out. Don’t come after me.”

He stops to grab his backpack from their room, glaring at the stack of CDs on the dresser as he walks by. He very nearly knocks out a hand to toss them off the dresser, and refrains at the very last second. “And move those fucking CDs, I’ve been asking you for weeks,” he yells to Louis as he goes out the front door, and then he lets it slam behind him.

He angrily walks in the direction of the library, a ten minute walk in the autumn chill, listing out all the annoying, terrible, horrible things he can think of about Louis as he goes. _He sleeps in too late, he doesn’t like to wash the dishes until the sink is overflowing, he yells at the television when his football team loses. He’s grumpy and mean and he has terrible taste in beer._

He’s still thinking about this when he gets to the entrance of the library. “Your ID card, please?” The girl asks, and the tone in her voice suggests she’s had to repeat the question already.

“I, uh...sorry,” Harry says. He’s distracted. Too distracted. He gives his ID card to the girl, who scans him in without a word, and then he finds a seat in his favorite cubicle on the fifth floor.

He puts in his headphones and cues up his favorite study playlist on Spotify, spreading out his papers and textbook and notebook in order to plan his first full day of solo teaching. It’s coming up in three weeks, and he’s required to submit a plan both to his professor and his mentor teacher by this weekend. He’s planning on having the kids do self-portraits in the medium of their choice and then write a paragraph about them, the requirements for the written portion slightly more complex in the older grades.

He gets through the first and third grade sections without much incident, but he’s hungry. He’d planned on eating dinner by now, and the sky is growing dark outside. His tummy is going to start rumbling soon if he doesn’t feed it, and then he’ll be kicked out of the library for making too much noise in the quiet section. He can’t go back though, not when he hasn’t heard from Louis.

He reaches his hand into his backpack; there’s a granola bar in there somewhere, dropped in there by Liam, who is a big proponent of healthy snacks in a pinch. Before he can find it, he runs his fingers along something else at the bottom of his bag, something he recognizes by feel. He pulls it out, and it’s the keychain that Louis bought for him this summer. It’s bright red, about half the size of fist, a dinky little thing in the shape of a London telephone box that says _Someone in London loves you_ . “So that you’ll always have a bit of me wherever you go,” Louis had said when he’d bought it for him, and even though Louis isn’t even _from_ London, the gesture made Harry tear up all the same.

He slumps back in his chair, the granola bar forgotten. Wow, he really fucked up, didn’t he?

Louis wasn’t trying to be annoying, at least not any more than usual. It wasn’t a personal attack; he just wanted to hang out with Harry for the first time all day. And then Harry had to scream at him and storm off like an absolute child, and he’s probably fucked up the whole thing.

He’s such an idiot.

The sensible thing would be to go back to their apartment and smooth things over, but he knows from experience that they both need at least a half hour of separation, no matter what the fight was about. Plus, Louis yelled back. Harry’s not about to walk back with his tail between his legs and beg Louis to forgive him. He shouldn’t have to.

His work takes longer than it should because he keeps thinking of Louis’ face, reminding himself that even when it’s hard he really _does_ love Louis; can’t imagine his life without Louis, in fact. It can be hard to remember when Louis is being a pain in the ass, but if the past three years have taught him anything, it’s that Louis is one of the most open-hearted people he knows. He could never turn away from him, not in a million years.

His phone buzzes and his heart flies into his chest before he realizes that it’s only Liam.

**Liam (7:02 pm): What’s the deal why’s Louis in ur room refusing to come out**

Harry sighs heavily. If Louis won’t even talk to Liam, they’re in big trouble.

**Zayn (7:04 pm): Bro what did u do??? I think u need to come home.**

Every cell in his body is begging for him to avoid the situation longer, to go to the dining hall and use one of his meal swipes. It’s a Tuesday, maybe he can treat himself to a burrito. That’s what he wants to do. But the responsible part of his heart, the one that says, ‘You need to go make things right,’ says that he needs to go back and apologize to Louis.

He tries to work for another twenty more minutes, until he finally accepts that today is not his day, not when he’s thinking about what Louis is doing the whole time. He packs up his things and walks slowly in the dark back to their place.

He’s tempted to knock on the door, but then shakes himself out of the idea; that would be silly. He _lives_ here, after all. He’s just a bit nervous of what’s waiting for him inside. There’s a difference between being worried  about an apology and acting like a guest in his own home.

The apartment is quiet when he goes in, and he drops his backpack against the living room wall, in their little entryway they’ve set up for keys and shoes. He kicks off his shoes and thinks that maybe Louis had gone out to dinner with the others, maybe none of them had eaten the dinner he cooked. In which case, wow, fucking pricks, but also, that’s not _really_ their fault.

“Louis?” Harry calls quietly after he doesn’t find Louis in the kitchen, still nervous. To be fair, who wouldn’t be in this situation?

He absolutely does not expect to find Louis standing in the middle of their room, a bundle of sunflowers in his hand. He’s combed his hair and replaced his joggers with real trousers, and something twists in Harry’s heart when he looks at him, something that says _why did I even spend a single minute of a single day fighting with this boy?_

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time. Louis lets out a little chuckle, and it’s the most beautiful sound Harry’s heard all day.

“I--” they both start again, and it's a sharp reminder of how alike they can be. Mirrors, Niall called them once.

Louis says, “No, let me.”

Harry nods and takes another step into the room. He’s probably only ten feet from Louis but it feels like there's a cavern between them, the space between too much to cross in a single jump. But maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other. Maybe they can both jump. He’s bashful, no longer angry; they're going to work this out.

“I'm sorry I annoyed you. I was just trying to be like...I don't know. I just wanted to hang out with you. I'm sorry.” Louis smiles, takes a step closer, and Harry’s gaze lands on the flowers. They're beautiful, long-stemmed and thick and vibrant, and Harry knows he didn't just cut them from someone’s garden. They're proper flowers from a flower shop, and somehow that means so much more.

“I shouldn't have said that what you're doing at the school isn't real work,” Louis continues, rushing to get the words out “That was wrong. I respect what you’re doing with them so much. You’re teaching _kids_ , Harry, teaching them skills they’ll have forever. That’s so important, and I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

On instinct, Harry takes two short steps forward, like he’s being drawn to Louis by a string.“And I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like I did,” Harry says “I don’t think you’re bad for trying to figure out what you want to do. I think it’s brave. Like, it’s hard to ignore what other people are telling you to do and try to figure out what’s right for you.”

Another step.

“I’m sorry for saying the thing about your stepdad. It’s none of my business how you pay for college.”

“It _is_ your business, though. Or, it could be. One day,” Harry says.

Louis smiles shyly and takes another step forward; he’s close enough to reach out and touch, so that’s what Harry does.

He pulls Louis to him by the waist and Louis folds into him, squeezing him so tight that Harry can barely breathe. He doesn’t care; having Louis back in his arms feels like that first run outside in the spring sunshine after a long winter of being stuck inside. Harry holds him tight and breathes him in and promises himself that he’s going to be better.

“I’m so sorry that I was a major arsehole,” Louis says after a minute, his fringe soft against Harry’s nose. “There’s no excuse, really.”

“I’m sorry too,” Harry says immediately. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“Let’s not fight again,” Louis murmurs against the side of Harry’s neck as he gently sways them from side to side. “I don’t like it.”

Harry’s reminded why they so rarely argue; he hates it. It makes him miserable. They’d had their first major blowout on Valentine’s Day freshman year, something silly that neither of them can remember anymore but that had left the two of them angry and going to bed alone. Louis had crept into Harry’s bed at three in the morning, bringing with him kisses and apologies and whispered promises to never let it happen again. Harry had agreed readily, had thought that now the first one was over they’d never fight again.

They definitely fought again. But they’re older now, and they’ve been navigating this whole thing for a few years now, and they’re so much better at the communicating part. They bicker nonstop, gentle banter and teasing and arguing just for the sake of it, but real, drawn out fights are rare. Neither of them have the stomach for it.

“I got you these flowers,” Louis says when he pulls away from Harry and hands them over. “To say I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Harry says softly, and his stomach groans loudly.

Louis smirks. “Well, I was going to suggest we go take a shower, but I guess I can feed you first.” He loops his arm around Harry’s waist and it’s harder to walk with the two of them pressed together like this, but the comfort is worth the extra few seconds it takes to get to the kitchen.

“Does it count if I already made the dinner?” Harry wonders as he takes a seat at the table and Louis opens the fridge.

“Shut up and let me do something nice for you,” Louis orders, and okay, Harry’s on board with that.

*

Liam and Sophia break up at the end of September. They’ve all known that it was coming, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less to see it. The night that Liam comes home, sobbing, his eyes red from hours of crying and the hem of his t-shirt wrinkled to bits by his fingers, Harry can’t help but cry a few tears too. The four of them get him to eat some dinner, his favorite pizza from the place down the street, and after two pieces he pushes it away and starts crying again.

Harry sleeps in Liam’s bed that night at Liam’s request. “I just...I can’t sleep there alone tonight, Haz,” he admits quietly. “I can’t do it.”

They both look over at Louis, almost like they’re asking for two different kinds of permission. Louis looks at Harry and nods. _It’s alright. It’s okay. I’ll miss sleeping next to you but Liam needs you more._

“Oh, Liam,” Harry says when he hugs him tight, refusing to let go. “That’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

*

“Okay, so this is how it’s gonna go,” Niall says as he pulls onto the highway. “It’s a forty-five minute drive to the apple orchard. It’s my car and I’m the one driving, so I get to control the music. Harold, Louis, no funny business, either in the car or at the orchard. Wait ‘til we get home.”

“But--”

“No buts, Louis. And no butts, either. Keep it to yourself.”

Louis slumps back in the middle seat and pouts. Harry trails his fingers along his upper arm, caressing it softly.

“I saw that, Styles. I mean it, it’s far too early for us to see the two of you with your tongues in each other's mouths. God knows we see enough of that at home.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry protests, but he pulls his hand away from Louis anyway. He looks across him to see Zayn’s head leaning against the window, eyes closed as he snores softly. He’s never been one for early wakeups; even now, with them leaving just before noon, it’s too early for him.

With Zayn asleep and Harry and Louis too afraid to do so much as even breathe lest Niall yell at them for being disgusting and Liam, two weeks single and still heartbroken, quiet in the front seat, it’s a quiet car ride to the farm. The drive marks the fourth time they’ve done this together, and Harry tries not to think about how it’ll be the last.

They’re _seniors_. It’s been fairly easy to ignore that fact in the monotony of midterms and weekend trips to the movie theater and parties. But sometimes it hits him like a wave: _there’s only seven months left. Seven months from today you’ll be a college graduate. You only have seven months left to figure out the rest of your life._

It’s terrifying. The thought of leaving his safe space, his friends, his campus, his classes, it frightens him beyond all understanding. He can’t comprehend that there’s a future version of him that doesn’t roll out of bed at nine in the morning to make pancakes in his boxers and then go to class at noon. No, the future version of him gets up at six every day and wears professional clothes and takes the train to work and spends an entire day there. And then there’s the whole thing with Louis -- not so much the _who_ of it, but the what. Namely, what is Louis going to do? Where are they going to live? Is Louis going to have to move back to the UK after his visa expires?

They’ve talked about it a few times since the first time Louis admitted he was feeling incredibly lost, and there’s been no real resolution since then, just a mutual understanding that they’re both deeply committed to each other and they’ll find a way to make it work. In some ways, he’s a little bit grateful for it; they’ve had some good talks that, while painful, have managed to bring them closer together.  Louis has a meeting with his advisor next week, and she’s promised to help him figure it out. For now, all they can do is wait.

Almost as if he can hear his thoughts (Harry hasn’t entirely ruled out that scenario, because sometimes Louis is magic), Louis drops his head to Harry’s shoulder. He cranes his neck and smiles up at Harry, and Harry smiles back. He’s just about to move his head to give Louis a kiss when Niall clears his throat.

“Don’t even dare,” Niall says.

“Yes, mum,” Louis says with a glare, and he defiantly links Harry’s fingers with his anyway.

They stay like that the rest of the drive, Zayn snoring away and Liam and Niall singing in low tones to the folksy playlist Niall made specifically just for this, and Harry and Louis holding hands. It’s nice. It’s better than nice, actually, it’s the best part about college for him, second only to Louis himself. But these friendships, the bonds between the five of them, that’s what he’ll remember in fifty years when he and Louis are sitting in rocking chairs on their front porch. That’s what he’ll be talking about.

“Okay, come on, get out of the car, let’s go. Apples to be picked, and all that. Let’s go, you fuckers. And no, I don’t mean that literally,” Niall says in response to Harry’s smirk.

If the state of the parking lot is anything to go by, the orchard is packed. There’s squealing kid and a dad squatted down trying to comfort another screaming child and a hayride going across the parking lot and the whole thing is madness. Harry loves it; the only person who loves it more than him is Niall, who takes this very seriously.

“It’s a very sacred tradition in my family,” he told Harry one night two years ago, voice solemn as they passed a beer back and forth on the porch at a random house party. “We used to go every single year. I’ve never missed a fall apple picking season.”

“Well, thanks for including us,” Harry had said, and he’d meant it.

“Alright,” Niall orders. “I’m going to get the bags for us if you want to wait here. Zayn, Liam, keep an eye on these two.” He points an accusing finger between Harry and Louis.

“Do you honestly think we can’t control ourselves?” Harry asks, just as Louis is wrapping his arm around Harry’s back, resting his hand on his favorite spot just at the dip of his waist. Harry leans into it immediately. Niall raises an eyebrow. “Fine, whatever, you’re right,” he concedes, but he doesn’t make any effort to extract Louis from where he’s pressed close.

Soon enough they’re in between rows and rows of apple trees, and Harry and Louis are doing their best to keep a respectable distance, if only because Niall’s nagging gets annoying after a while. He loves that the two of them love each other, sometimes to an alarming degree. Louis has suggested on multiple occasions that they get him a ‘Louis and Harry’s biggest fan’ shirt for Christmas, but it hasn’t quite come to fruition yet. Maybe this year.

“Let’s go get cider donuts,” Louis says once they’ve filled three bags full of apples. “I’m hungry.” It’s way more than they’ll ever eat among themselves, but Harry’s already thinking of all the apple-flavored things he can cook: apple pie, apple muffins, cinnamon applesauce. They’re probably gonna turn into apples themselves by Halloween.

“Yes. Cider donuts, immediately, please,” Zayn says, flashing Niall his best puppy dog look. Sure, they could all break off from the group whenever they wanted, since they are official, real life adults and all, but there’s an unspoken agreement that they all stick together and they only move on when Niall is ready to go.

“Surprised you lasted this long, Zayn,” Niall teases as he ruffles his hair. Harry is too; the first time they came, Zayn hated it. He didn’t understand why people would actually do this for fun.

“Well, you know, character development,” Zayn says with a shrug. “Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.”

“So, cider donuts?” Louis says eagerly. There’s a long pause when Niall just looks between the four of them, lined up like eager schoolchildren about to be told they can have an extended recess.

“Yeah, okay,” Niall concedes. “Cider donuts. And then the corn maze.”

“I hate the corn maze,” Liam groans. “I always get lost.”

“Don’t worry, Louis brings a compass everywhere he goes,” Niall ribs goodnaturedly. “He’ll help you find the way.”

“Harry, tell them to stop teasing me,” Louis says, curling into his side. Harry kisses the top of his head as they walk down the path that leads to the cider donut stand. Blessedly, Niall doesn’t make a comment.

“Your compass is perfect, Lou. Plus, it keeps me around, yeah? What’s a ship without a compass?”

“Excellent point, love,” Louis says as he pulls Harry ahead of the others. “The rest of you can suck it.”

*

_Louis’ hand is warm and solid in his as they walk down the street, the London sun beating down on them as it makes a rare appearance. It's been uncharacteristically warm since he arrived three days ago, and he is not complaining._

_“I like it here,” Harry comments as they pass a bustling department store. “Feels nice.”_

_“Yeah?” Louis looks up at him, eyes wide. He looks happy. “Is it nice to be home?”_

_“So nice,” Harry says immediately, and then -- a beat of hesitation, because wow. That's exactly it. “But I don't think that's as much because of England as it is because of you.”_

_“What do you mean?” Louis asks. Harry looks around, and this isn't the place for this conversation, but they're doing it anyway. He pulls Louis to the side by the sleeve of his t-shirt, into a doorway and away from the crush of pedestrians._

_“I mean that I think home is you,” Harry says simply, grabbing Louis’ hands in his own. “I think that my home is you now.”_

_Louis’ eyes go wide, and the wild beat of Harry’s heart picks up its pace. “Me too,” Louis breathes. “Has been for a while, I think. Never feel quite right unless I’ve got you around.”_

_There’s nothing left for Harry to do but kiss him then, standing on the pavement while busy people stream past them. Louis’ hand is warm against the back of his neck and his lips are soft and slick against his own. It’s probably been twenty minutes since they last did this, which is nineteen minutes too long._

_“Harry,” Louis breathes against his lips. “I love you. It’s always gonna be you, forever and always.”_

_“You too,” Harry says through quick kisses. “Never, ever gonna have anyone else, it’s just you, always you, I love you so much.” His skin suddenly feels hot with it, a little scratchy, like he’s desperate to prove to Louis just how much he loves him. Not just to Louis. To everyone._ This is my boy, this is my home, I love him more than I have ever loved anything else in the world _._

_He leans his forehead against Louis’ and closes his eyes as he breathes him in, trying to calm himself down. He can’t. It’s like being high, but this time just on Louis. There’s too much energy, too much of it rattling inside of him, and he needs to get it out._

_He opens his eyes and looks over Louis’ shoulder and -- there. That’s it. That’s the solution._

_An unassuming tattoo parlor sits across the street, sandwiched between a secondhand bookstore and a bakery, the facade painted bright red. The gold writing across the top identifies the shop as Ganesha Ink, and Harry knows that it’s exactly where he needs to go._

_“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging Louis across the pavement with a hand looped around his wrist._

_“Where are we going?” Louis asks, following him despite his confusion. He always does. They follow each other._

_“To the tattoo place,” Harry says simply as he looks both ways before crossing the street._

_“The tattoo place?” Louis asks, eyes wide._

_“Just to look,” Harry says, “I just wanna look.” He’s not gonna look. He’s getting a tattoo._

_“Harry, I dunno if--” Louis starts, but then Harry pushes the door open and he's silenced by the tinkling of the bell._

_“Good afternoon, can I help you?” The young guy at the front desk is blonde, glasses perched on his nose, tattoos covering both his forearms. He looks between the two of them, his face uncertain. Do people usually come here for things other than tattoos? What else would they be here for?_

_“I want to get a tattoo,” Harry says confidently._

_“Okay, sir, when would you like to make an appointment?”_

_“As soon as possible. If you have anything today, that’d be great.”_

_Louis tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Haz, what are you doing?”_

_Harry turns to look at him, and Louis’ eyes are wide. “I'm gonna get a tattoo. It's time.”_

_“I didn't know you were serious, before. Like actually thinking about it. You really want to do this now?”_

_“Now is the only time,” Harry says, looking Louis right in the eyes. He must see something there, maybe that manic, desperate feeling beneath his skin. Maybe he can sense Harry’s wild energy for which this is the only cure. No matter what it is, he just nods, and then Harry nods, and they turn back to the front desk._

_The guy’s eyes are wide, flitting between the two of them, and Harry clasps Louis’ hand in his and clears his throat. “So, uh, yeah, the appointment?”_

_“What kind of work are you looking for? I presume you don't have an artist in mind?”_

_“No, but I know what I want.”_

_“And what’s that?”_

_Oh, right. Not a mind reader. “An English ship, right here on my upper arm, just black ink. Something intricate, pretty detailed.”_

_“Okay, I think I know just the person,” the guy says, flashing him a smile. “She should be finished with her current client in a few minutes, if you lads want to take a seat. Except, wait -- anything for you?” he asks Louis._

_“Lou,” Harry breathes. “You should do it. Come on, please.”_

_Louis turns to Harry, wide-eyed. He looks a bit shell-shocked by this sudden turn of events. “I, uh, I’m not sure. Let me think about it.”_

_“No worries. I'll let you know when Elaine’s ready for you.”_

_Louis is the first to step away, the questions written all over his face. Harry looks around the room and pulls him to a quiet corner away from the door. It's as private as they're gonna get for this conversation._

_“Look,” he says, squeezing Louis’ upper arms. “If you don't want to do this, say the word. We can leave right away, no problem. I just...I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, and it’ll mean so much more if we get them together.”_

_Louis closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath before opening them again. They're bright blue, and all Harry can see there is love. “Like, I dunno what I’d even get.”_

_“Uh, same thing as me, duh. We can match,” Harry says cheekily, but he already can tell Louis isn't gonna go for it._

_“Why don't you get it, Haz, and I can get the next one? Gotta make sure you survive, after all.”_

_“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, already going in for a kiss, long and slow and comfortable. It's the kind of kissing that's inappropriate for a place like this, but Harry doesn't care; he's just minutes away from getting a permanent mark on his body for his boy, his lovely, wild sunshine boy, and that's all that matters._

_“Excuse me, gentlemen?”_

_Harry turns to see a tall brunette in a black dress standing just behind them. She looks like she's been waiting there a minute or two, like she’s already tried to get their attention._

_Louis pulls away with a laugh and Harry clears his throat. “Oops, I'm sorry. I’m Harry. This is Louis, my boyfriend.”_

_“I’m Elaine,” she says, shaking each of their hands and then leading them to a station, a little desk and two armchairs and a stool. The place is wicked, so artsy and cool and Harry can’t believe he’s actually gonna do this._

_“Okay, Harry. First tattoo?”_

_“Is it that obvious?” he asks with a little laugh._

_“A little,” she says with a smile. “You look a bit amazed at this whole thing. So what are we thinking for this?” She shrugs off a hoodie, leaving her in a tank top that shows off a peony tattoo on her shoulder._

_“That’s gorgeous,” he blurts out, staring at it. “Did you design that?”_

_“I did, yeah,” she laughs. “You want one just like it?”_

_He looks over at Louis and squeezes his hand. “I want to get a big ship, up here on my arm. Maybe like, a little bigger than a fist. Because this is my home, but so is America, and I want to keep my home with me. I want a proper English ship, like really detailed. I want it to have sails, and gunports, and galleries. The whole thing. Can you do something like that?”_

_“Are you thinking something like this?” She pulls a portfolio book from a stack on the desk, leafing through the pages until she lands on a sketch that’s almost exactly like what he’s looking for._

_“Yes,” Harry says immediately, eyes wide. “Yes, almost exactly like that.”_

_“Harold, did you just explain something without rambling, and have her get it on the first try? Weird.” Louis’ face is incredibly fond, and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him._

_“Shut it, little one,” Harry says, pulling his hand away from Louis’, and he looks at Elaine, who’s sporting an amused smile. “Yes, I want it like that, except I’d like these sails a bit bigger, and a tiny bit of shading at the bottom, like water.”_

_“Okay, so it’ll take me a couple days to draw that up, but if you want to come back on Thursday, I think I’m free in the afternoon.”_

_“We can’t do it today?” Harry asks, feeling himself deflate like a balloon. He thought it was gonna be right now._

_“Unfortunately not. I have to draw this all up on a stencil for you, and I have another client coming in an hour. But Thursday. Does that work for you boys?”_

_“That works,” Louis said, placing a hand on Harry’s jiggly knee. The wild energy is suddenly back, now that he has to wait three full days._

_“You can leave your deposit at the front desk, Jack can help you. And then I’ll see you Thursday. Sound good?”_

_“Sounds great,” Harry says. “We’ll see you then.”_

_He pays a third of the tattoo cost upfront as a deposit, makes his appointment, and then follows Louis out of the shop. It’s nearly dark, the summer air heavy around them, and he presses Louis back up against the brick that separates the tattoo parlor and the bookshop._

_“I love you, I love you so much.” He feels frantic, desperate, needy. It’s come out of nowhere, except that it hasn’t. It’s been three consecutive summers of separation, and neither of them have a clue what’s happening next summer, and he’s sick of it. He’s been back in England for three days, back by Louis’ side where he belongs, and he feels more at home than he has all summer. Louis is home, and he’s getting the tattoo to prove it._

_“I can’t believe you’re gonna do this, you’re insane,” Louis says through a kiss._

_“I just try to keep you on your toes.”_

_“Well, it’s working. You’re ridiculous.”_

_“And you love me for it.”_

_Louis sighs. “Despite all my best judgement, I do.”_

_“Come on, take me home, take me to bed.” If he can’t burn off the energy with a tattoo, he’s gonna have to do it with Louis. It doesn’t feel like a bad deal._

*

_He’s strangely calm the next few days. He hangs out with Louis’ sisters and answers every question they’ve ever had about living in America. They’ve never been, and they desperately want to visit._

_“Maybe when you’re a bit older, girls,” Jay says, shooing them out to the garden to play. “Sorry, about that, Harry. I’m afraid they don’t know when to shut up. Now, can I get you some tea?”_

_“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” Harry says. Louis’ sisters are lovely, inquisitive and fun and perfectly willing to make fun of Louis with him, which is his favorite pastime. Second only to maybe kissing him. “And no, I can make my own, it’s no trouble.”_

_“No, let me,” she says, a firm hand on his shoulder pushing him back down to the couch. “You two stay here, I’ll get it.”_

_“Wow, she’s never this nice when it’s just me,” Louis says when she walks back to the kitchen. “Should bring you around more often.”_

_“Louis William, I can hear you,” Jay calls, and Harry giggles into Louis’ back. They’re curled up on the couch, Louis’ head a warm weight on his chest as they watch television, and the whole thing is so bloody domestic that he’s about three seconds away from proposing._

_“Sorry, Mum, I love you!” Louis calls._

_“That’s more like it.”_

*

_Two days after the decision to get the tattoo, Louis’ grandparents come by for lunch. Louis’ mum and stepdad had been charmed by Harry by minute five of meeting him, and his siblings had fallen even quicker, so it’s a bit weird to be the subject of intense scrutiny about his intentions with Louis._

_“So you’re about to enter your last year of university, have you thought about what you’re going to do next year?”_

_“Yes sir,” Harry says to Louis’ grandfather across the table. “I’m going to become an art teacher. Preferably elementary-- I mean, primary school.”_

_“An art teacher?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, disapproval evident in his tone. The rest of the table is just watching, the youngest girls oblivious to any tension. “And where are you planning to live?”_

_“I’m not sure.”_

_“You’re not sure?” His grandmother asks, and she looks about five seconds from dumping her water glass over Harry’s head._

_“It doesn’t matter to me where we live,” he says simply. “I can do my job wherever, art has no language. I’ll follow Louis wherever he wants to go.”_

_He hears a sharp inhale from Louis on his left, but he doesn’t dare meet his eyes. He’s worried enough about making a good impression as it is._

_“But what about--” Louis’ grandfather starts._

_“Okay, enough of the Spanish Inquisition, Dad,” Jay says, standing up to clear the plates. “They’ll make it work. I’ll go get dessert.”_

_*_

_Harry’s antsy on the train ride back to London, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and Louis’ hand in his. “You ready for this?” Louis asks him, bumping his shoulder against Harry’s._

_“I’m excited. And I can’t believe you booked us a hotel room, how the hell did you pull that one off?”_

_“I asked my mum for help,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal that they’re staying in London for two nights, just the two of them. Louis is a little shit, but he’s also the most romantic person Harry has ever met. “No promise that’s it’s anywhere fancy, though,” he warns. Harry’s not worried._

_*_

_“Elaine!” Harry calls when they get to the tattoo parlor and find her waiting for them. He’s tempted to give her a hug, because she’s finally going to make a dream come true._

_“Hi boys,” she greets. “How are we feeling, Harry?”_

_“I’m excited,” he says. That feeling is back, the ‘I need this now or I’m maybe gonna claw my skin off’ sensation from the last time he was here. “I’m ready.”_

_“Excellent. Alright, here’s the drawing that I came up with, why don’t the two of you take a look and I’ll stencil it on if you’re happy with it?”_

_Harry takes one look at the sketch and he knows it’s exactly what he wants. He gives his consent, and within minutes the hair is shaved off his upper arm and he’s staring at the stencil outline of an English ship on his skin reflected in the mirror in front of him. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Lou?”_

_Louis is staring at him, eyes glued to the mark on his skin. He looks a little stunned. He hasn’t spoken in a few minutes. Louis is rarely quiet, not unless something’s wrong._

_“Lou,” Harry says again, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Do you hate it? Because if you hate it then I’m not gonna get it.”_  
  
_“I don’t hate it,” Louis says softly, finally meeting his eyes. “Not at all. It’s perfect.”_

_Harry feels his face spread into a wide grin. “I’m ready, Elaine,” he says, eyes still locked with Louis’._

_*_

_The panic doesn’t set in until he’s actually seated in the chair, Elaine fiddling with ink caps and his arm tilted toward her, his palm up on the table. “Okay, you good?” she asks, grabbing his arm with her left hand._

_“Yeah, I, uh, I’m good.” His voice shakes when he says it though, and Louis must hear it because he looks up from his phone. “I lied. Lou, can you come hold my hand?”_

_Louis laughs. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.”_

_The first press of the needle isn’t anything like the searing pain he expects, just a little pinch that’s more like a scratch over a sunburn._

_“What does it feel like?” Louis asks, staring at the movement of the needles. Louis watches the developing tattoo and Harry watches Louis._

_“It feels okay,” Harry says, trying not to grimace. “Just like, kind of itchy? Like running the sharp bit of a paperclip down my arm. Or being poked. A lot. In an annoying fashion. Sorry, Elaine. You’re not annoying.”_

_Elaine laughs. “Yeah, that’s normal. I think you’ll be able to handle it.”_

_Louis holds his hand for a few minutes more but then it’s obvious he’s getting bored, so Harry releases him to go walk around, or play on his phone, or whatever he wants to do. It’s gonna be a couple hours._

_The buzz of the needle becomes easy to tune out, and he alternates between chatting to Elaine and watching Louis move around the room, looking at the designs on the wall and flipping through Elaine’s portfolio books. He spends a few minutes just marveling at the way he can strike up a conversation with a client’s wife with ease, the way he moves through the room like he’s been here a thousand times before, the way he holds himself like he knows exactly who he is. He’s Harry’s absolute favorite person on the planet, and he can’t believe that they belong to each other._

_“So what’s this for? You were so certain about what you wanted that we never really talked about it.” Elaine asks when she’s about halfway through the outline. Harry’s gotten up the courage to look by now, and it’s mesmerizing, the ink tracing the pattern into his skin, marking him forever._

_Where to begin? It means so much more than it did four days ago. “I always planned to get one,” he settles on. “You know, an English ship, a way to keep a reminder that I’m homeward bound. That there’s always a way to get home.”_

_“And now?” she asks, because yeah, of course there’s more to the story._

_“Now it’s about him too,” he cocks his head toward Louis, sitting at a table nearby playing on his phone. “About Lou being my home, my person, the one who keeps me afloat. The one who keeps me going. A way to be with him even when we’re apart.” He swallows over the lump in his throat, and when Louis looks up at him from the book of drawings, there’s a wet sheen to his eyes._

_“Harry,” he says quietly, pushing himself up off the chair and walking over to Harry. “You didn’t tell me that part of it.” His smile is warm and sudden and so, so loving._

_Harry grins back. “Yeah, well, that part was the surprise.”_

_“I’m gonna do it,” Louis mumbles._

_“Huh?”_

_“I’m doing it. Elaine, where’s the book that has Harry’s tattoo design?”_

_“In that book by the wall,” she says, cocking her head in the direction of it but never looking up from her work. There’s a weird grin on her face, one that Harry can’t quite figure out. He doesn’t devote more than three seconds of time to it though, because Louis is frantically flipping through designs before giving a little cheer when he lands on one and showing the page to Harry._

_“Babe, what are you doing?” Harry asks._

_“I want this.” He stabs the page with his index finger. It’s a compass, beautifully shaded but relatively simple. He sounds so confident, so certain, and the authority in his tone is hot. Still, it’s more than a little confusing._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“I’m gonna get a tattoo as well. Today. Because you’re my home too, and you said that you would follow me anywhere, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for three days. The ship follows the compass, right?” All Harry can do is nod, trying to follow what Louis is saying. There’s no way -- there’s no way that he’s actually saying that he wants to get a tattoo that matches Harry’s. Harry was joking about that._

_“Lou, are you serious?”_

_“As serious as I’ve ever been, baby. Me and you forever, right? You’re my home too.”_

_Harry almost forgets that he’s getting a tattoo right now, he’s so consumed with the look on Louis’ face, vibrant and happy. He’s doing this, he’s actually gonna do it. Shit._

_“Lou,” Harry says softly, and he needs to kiss him right this minute. It’s a desperate need. “Lou, come here so I can kiss you. I gotta kiss you, babe. Holy shit, you’re gonna get a tattoo for me.” He needs to find a way out of this chair, needs to show Louis how much he loves him, needs to pour all his emotions into the other half of his heart._

_“No kissing,” Elaine chastises, swatting him with her free hand. “Save the kissing for the break.”_

_“Baby, you’re getting a tattoo for me right this minute,” Louis points out, and shit, yeah, he is._

_“I love you so much. We’re gonna be together forever,” Harry says, absolutely overcome with emotion, and he grabs Louis’ hand in his own, squeezing tight._

_“Yeah, we are.”_

_Harry is up and out of the chair the second Elaine finishes the outline. “Five minutes,” she says, tone stern but a smile on her face, but Harry’s too busy kissing Louis to really pay attention._

_*_

_The pain doesn't really set in until she starts doing the shading, filling in the ship, his body tired of being poked with needles for the better part of two hours now. It'll be worth it, he tells himself, if only because of Lou._

_Because Louis is gonna get a tattoo for him in return. Louis is gonna get a mark on his body that's just for Harry. God, it's so fucking hot. So, so hot._

_“You okay, love?” Louis asks, back to holding his hand as he sits on a stool. And no, Harry isn’t okay, because all those jokes about him having a pain kink might have been the truth. Between the tattoo and the knowledge that Lou is gonna get one for him too, he’s ready to drag Louis back to their hotel room. Or anywhere with a bed. That’d be fine, he doesn’t need anything fancy. He just needs Louis. Preferably right now._

_“I’m uh, I feel a bit woozy,” Harry says slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes to try to will the feeling away, but it doesn’t do the trick._

_“Do you now?” Louis asks through a grin. The fucker, he knows exactly what’s going on right now._

_“Go take a hike, Lou,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “Get out of here.”_

_“But then how will you find the way home?” Little shit._

_“You don’t have the compass yet, I’ll survive. Speaking of -- shit, Elaine. Can he even do it today? Doesn’t he need an appointment? Fuck, I didn’t even think of that.”_

_She sets the tattoo gun down on the tray and looks between the two of them. “Technically, no. You’re my last customer of the day.”_

_Louis’ fingers, previously rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand, freeze. Harry feels a sudden cold flash run through his body._

_“But,” Elaine says with a smile, “I can tell that this is something the two of you need to do, and I’m a bit charmed by all…” She waves her hand at Harry and Louis, “This. So I’m gonna stay late, and when I’m done with Harry’s, I’m gonna send you both away for a bit while I draw out the compass. And then you’ll come back in about an hour and we can get started on that.”_

_“Woo! Thank you so much,” Louis says with a massive grin, and Harry could probably kiss Elaine. Anyone who puts a smile like that on his boy’s face deserves the world._

*

_An hour later, Harry’s ship is finally, finally done, and he barely hears Elaine’s care instructions, too busy flitting between the new addition to his arm and Louis’ awestruck face. “Back in an hour, boys, don’t forget.”_

_“We won’t,” Louis calls back to her, fingers resting gingerly on Harry’s forearm as they leave the tattoo parlor. “We won’t forget.”_

_He feels giddy as he clings to Louis, pressing kisses to his temple as they stand in line to order sandwiches from a cafe around the corner. He keeps looking down at the tattoo, wanting to pull off the plastic wrapping and show it off to the world already. Wants to stand on top of the table and yell ‘this is my boyfriend and no matter what happens, I’ll always come home to him.’_

_Louis seems just as enraptured as they eat, intently picking at the edge of the plastic with a fingernail until Harry swats him away. “Stop, ‘m trying to eat. I need to recover my energy. S’hard work, you know, sitting there and letting someone poke needles into your body.”_

_“Oh yeah,” Louis mumbles. “I’m sure it is. Sitting there and turning me on is real difficult for you, pal.”_

_Harry grins. “So it wasn’t just me then?”_

_“No,” Louis scoffs. “It was fucking hot, watching you getting inked for me. Like, that’s gonna be there forever, you know that? Me ‘n’ you, it’s forever. Can’t wait to get home and drag you into bed, I need you so bad.”_

_“Mmm, good job you booked a hotel room then,” Harry says softly against Louis’ lips before drawing him in for a long kiss. “Smartest boy in the world.”_

_“Except we’re already home, right?” Louis asks, and the fond look in his eyes belies his cheesy tone. He’s trying to act unaffected, Harry can tell, but this whole afternoon has been the strongest drug he’s ever taken, just absolutely insane._

_“Yeah Lou,” Harry says. “We’re already home.”_

*

_“Not sure I’ve ever had two customers quite like you,” Elaine comments as she cleans Louis’ forearm of any excess hair. “Calling to ask me if I have any food allergies so that you could bring me something to eat. Very sweet of you. If you weren’t so sickeningly in love, I’d try to date you myself. Here, what do you think of this sketch, Louis?”_

_Louis takes the sheet in his hand and Harry hooks his chin over his shoulder so he can look too, his arms around Louis’ waist so he can hold him tight._

_“It’s perfect. Except can we change one tiny thing?” She nods. “Can we make this N for North say ‘home’ instead? Cause Harry is my home, and I only ever want it to point to him. Don’t ever want to go anywhere else.”_

_Harry’s only reaction is a sharp inhale as he presses his nose to the back of Louis’ neck, trying to stop the shudder that’s running through him. Louis is going to be the death of him._

_“Yeah, we can do that,” Elaine says. “I can do that.”_

*

_Watching Louis get a tattoo is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Louis is so quiet, is the thing, perfectly stoic. He’s pliant the way he only is right after sex, letting Harry hold his hand and brush back his fringe without making comments about it. It’s a little weird, actually, but Harry’s into it. The after-sex thing doesn’t help his concentration, making him think about all the things he wants to do to Louis the second they get out of here._

_“So you realize that you’re gonna have matching tattoos forever now,” Elaine comments when she’s in the midst of outlining the compass._

_“Gonna be stuck together forever is more like it,” is Louis’ answer._

_“Louuu, don’t be mean.” Harry whines, pulling his hand away from Louis’. Louis immediately grabs it back. Harry gets it. It’s not painful at the start, exactly, but the feeling of it can be a lot to handle._

_“But like, might as well, right? Gonna be dragging your sorry arse around for the rest of my life, I might as well get the tattoo to show the world.”_

_Harry smiles and leans up to press a kiss to Louis’ temple. This might be the happiest day of his life, even if Louis is suddenly trying to pretend not to care that much. For his part, Harry is absolutely overcome._

_Louis doesn’t talk for much of it, staring at the drawings on the wall or at Elaine’s work or at Harry’s face. Harry wants to know what’s going through his head, wants to know if he experienced this same sense of heady power when Harry was getting his tattoo._

_It’s like this: Harry has been dating Louis for the better part of three years, has technically held a claim to him for that long, not that they’d ever call it that. They’re each their own person, belonging to themselves; it just so happens that they function better together. There’s never been an explicit conversation about the permanence of their situation, more like the mutual understanding that they’re_ it _for each other. It had been a long, winding road to get to each other, and Harry’s never going to let go of Louis if he can help it. Even if he has to crawl on hands and knees, he’ll always find his way back to him._

_That’s kind of what he’s doing with the tattoo, standing up to take ownership of the fact that they’ve been separated so much and yet he still knows Louis is his home. Making a public statement to the world. And then Louis had gone and made it ten times worse by getting a tattoo that corresponds to the fact that Harry would follow him anywhere._

_“I would,” Harry says out loud then, apropos of nothing,“I would follow you anywhere. All you have to do is say the word.”_

_Louis looks up at him with a bright smile, and Harry thinks,_ I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making you happy _._

*

_It takes about two hours, and then Louis’ forearm is marked with a reminder of his love for Harry. Elaine sends them off with a hug for each of them and well wishes and they leave her with a promise that they’ll be back. “What do you think my mum’s going to say?” Louis asks absentmindedly, as Harry presses a kiss to his cheek before they board the tube back to the hotel._

_“Probably going to kill me for corrupting you,” Harry guesses._

_“Joke’s on her though, ‘cause I corrupted you first.”_

_Harry does his best to look absolutely scandalized, giving Louis a quick smack across the knee in response. “Naughty.”_

_“You like it.”_

_“Yeah,” Harry breathes, leaning in for a kiss, lips already parted. “I really, really do.”_

_When they get back to the hotel, he gets to show him just how much. They’re careful not to mess up the wrapping on their tattoos, and both of them cry a little bit, just because all that emotion needs to go somewhere, and after, they wash each other’s hair in the shower, both of them far more gentle and reverent than usual. Harry falls asleep in his favorite position, Louis a warm weight against his back, and he thinks that it’s wonderful to be_ home _._

*

“These get better every year,” Liam comments, practically groaning as he rubs his stomach. He’s had three or four by now, if the half-empty bag at his side is anything to go by.

“Babe, can't you learn to make these for us so that we can have cider donuts whenever we want?” Louis whines, poking him in the side.

“I’ve tried. Too tricky to get the consistency right, and then all the cinnamon makes a huge mess. S’not worth it,” he says biting into a second and immediately reevaluating his statement. Maybe he _could_ try again. Set themselves up with a steady supply of cider donuts for the rest of their lives.

The rest of their lives. Sounds pretty good to him.

“Okay, so. The corn maze?” Niall asks, scrambling up and brushing grass off his pants. Harry sticks out a hand and Niall pulls him to his feet. “Last one out has to buy the second round of donuts.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat more,” Liam says, but they all know he’s lying.

Sunlight beats down on them as they line up at the entrance, waiting for Niall to start the timer on his phone. The maze is in the shape of an apple this year, the birds-eye view hung up on a poster at the start. Harry jumps up and down in place for a few seconds, getting ready to run. It’s been three years, and he’s come in dead last every single time. He doesn’t want to be stuck buying donuts again.

“Ready, set, go!” Niall yells, and the five of them take off running. Niall’s out in front like he’s been shot out of a cannon, sprinting into the distance as the others follow. Harry takes an immediate left, trying to remember what he’d seen on the map. It looked like left, right, right, but maybe it was left, right, left? He goes right anyway.

He spends a few minutes jogging his way through the maze, trying not get caught staring at the cute little kids that are trailing their mom in the other direction. He’s just starting to think that he’s lost when he crashes into another body.

“Sorry--” he starts, hands on their upper arms, only to realize that he knows those arms.

“Hi, baby,” Louis says, grin wide. He presses his index finger against Harry’s cheek, into the dimple, and it only serves to make him smile more.

“Still think you’re gonna win?” Harry say as Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s neck.

“Mm, don’t much care anymore,” Louis mumbles, lips parted for a kiss. Harry goes easily, pliant and happy in Louis’ arms. He tastes like cinnamon sugar, like cider donuts and apples.

“You taste like cinnamon,” Louis comments before proceeding to lick a bit of it off his top lip. “There. Got it.”

A shudder runs through Harry, who’s suddenly thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking in a corn maze full of children. He pushes Louis up against the hedge, trying to hide them a bit, because he’s not done kissing Louis but he also doesn’t want to be pervy.

“Love you,” Harry mumbles, drawing his hand down to rub his thumb along Louis’ compass. “Love you so much, I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“So glad you’re mine,” Louis repeats. “So thankful for you.”

“Thanksgiving is next month, Lou,”  Harry teases, dropping his head against Louis’ shoulder. It’s not comfortable, but it’s comforting, and right now, that’s all he cares about.

“I wish you’d stop worrying about things,” Louis says, wrapping a hand around Harry’s wrist and pulling away so that he can look him in the eyes. “We’re gonna be alright, we’ll figure it out. You and me against the world, right? We’ll follow each other wherever we want to go. We’ll always have a home.”

That’s what they’ve told each other so many times, when they’re sad about being apart for a summer or worried about the future. _We’ll always have a home._

Harry sighs, rubbing his thumb on the inside of Louis’ wrist. “I just...it’s scary, you know? This whole graduation thing. What happens next.”

“I know, trust me, I know,” Louis says as he presses a wet smooch against Harry’s jaw. “But you’re gonna be fine, you’re a star.” He winds a curl around his fingertip and then watches as it springs back, and Harry stares down at him.

“You know that you’re gonna be fine too, right? We’ll figure it out. I’m not gonna leave you. I’ll help you figure it out.”

“Oh, I know,” Louis says, and there’s still something uncertain in his tone but Harry figures this isn’t the place. “Now, can we get back to the kissing? We can have the emotional conversations later; for now I just wanna kiss you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, his laugh ghosting over Louis’ lips. “More kissing please.”

Niall finds them there fifteen minutes later, laughing into each other’s mouths, and he smacks Harry on the back of the head. “Thought that the two of you were lost, but I should have known better. Come on, you owe us donuts.”

*

Louis wakes the morning of his meeting with his advisor and he’s immediately tense. Harry can feel it in the way he stiffens against him, in the way that his grip on Harry’s waist gets a little bit tighter, in the way that he buries his face into Harry’s shoulder and inhales. It’s all soft motions and quiet movements and he would bet Louis doesn’t think he’s noticed any of them, but of course he has. He knows Louis’ body almost as well as he knows his own.

Harry always knows when something’s wrong; he’s never had a problem with that. It’s the knowing how to deal with it where he sometimes still struggles.

“Mm, morning,” Harry says, forming the words carefully against Louis’ jaw. He brings one of Louis’ hands up to his face and presses his lips to it, leaving them there for a minute before turning around in his arms.

“Hi,” Louis says quietly. He’s faking a smile -- and doing a terrible job of it.

“What can I do to make today less shit for you?” Harry asks.

Louis closes his eyes slowly, like he’s thinking about it. Harry’s just wondering if he’s gone back to sleep when Louis opens his eyes and says, “Love me.”

“Yeah, alright, I can do that.”

“You already do, to be honest, you’re doing everything you can.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, slowly rolling himself so that he’s perched on top of Louis, elbows on the bed bracketing his body.

“Well, maybe not _everything,_ ” Louis amends, bringing a hand up to run trace his fingers along the ship tattoo as he looks up at Harry through hooded eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Harry answers, slipping a thigh in between Louis’ legs. He’s not wearing pants, neither of them are, so it makes it easy to grind up against him slowly and feel Louis growing hard against his hip.

“If you, uh,” Louis gasps, “keep doing _that_ , maybe I’ll feel a bit better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, maybe. Why don’t you shut up and find out though?”

Well, that’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one. “Love the way you look in the morning,” Harry mumbles, teeth scraping across Louis’ nipple. “So soft and always so ready for me,” he cuts himself off with a groan, “like all night you just couldn’t wait for me to - _ah_ \-- fuck you.”

Louis lets out a little yelp when Harry bites down and then soothes it with his tongue. “Yeah, baby, that’s it. You know that sometimes I -- _Harry_ \-- wake up in the middle of the night and you’re right there, warm and smelling so nice -- _yes, that’s it_ \--  and it’s all I can do not to get you off -- _ah -_ \- right there? Like you’re so much, you’re always _so much_.”

“Wake me up next time,” Harry mumbles. “Never gonna say no to you.”

He works his way down Louis’ stomach and then finally gets his cock in his hand, fingers trailing along it teasingly as he kisses along Louis’ thighs.

“You want me to leave a bruise?” Harry asks, looking up at Louis, who’s sporting a look of utter bliss and mumbling his assent. Sometimes it still hits him that _he’s_ the one who gets to makes Louis react like that. Just for fun, he trails his fingers across Louis’ abs and feels giddy at the way they contract. He trails that hand down his stomach, past his cock and toward his arse, stopping just before he gets to his hole.

“Stop being a tease,” Louis says through gritted teeth once Harry’s sucked a purpling bruise into his thigh. No one else will know it’s there but the two of them, and that kind of secret mark makes Harry feel heady with lust.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, pulling his hand away from Louis’ arse and placing both hands on the bed.

“Your fingers, Harry, come on, fuck me, we don’t have that much time.”

“Well if we don’t have that much time maybe we shouldn’t bother at all,” Harry says, tone light as he stares down at Louis, loving the way he’s trying to hide his desperation. He looks about three seconds away from wriggling away from Harry and doing the job himself.

“Come on, Harry, stop being a twat and get the lube.”

“God, no need to be so needy,” Harry teases, throwing himself over Louis’ chest as he reaches over into the drawer to get the lube. He bypasses an iPhone charger and a pair of headphones and pulls out a condom and the sticky bottle of lube, dropping them on the pillow by Louis’ head. “If you wanna have sex with me, you can just ask.”

Louis rolls his eyes and bites at Harry’s shoulder, and then Harry’s uncapping the bottle and spreading it on his fingers and pushing one inside of Louis, slow, slow, slow. Louis lets out a groan against his shoulder, begging for a second finger, and because Harry can feel heat building at the base of his spine, he does what he’s told.

“Right -- _ah_ \-- right there, Harry,” Louis gets out, fingernails curled into Harry’s sides as Harry cocks his fingers inside. “Right there, baby, come on, another--”

Harry brings his head down to kiss the words out of Louis’ mouth and brings his other hand to his cock, stroking him off in time with the pace of his fingers. He loses himself in the feeling of Louis’ soft mouth against his, the way he’s tight around Harry’s fingers, and the way he keeps having to break away from the kiss to let out these little whimpers that just about have Harry ready to come untouched.

He’s too busy cataloguing all the different ways he’s making Louis groan that he doesn’t hear the door open, barely hears Niall say, “Hey Lou, d’you have that book for-- oh god, not _again_ ,” but he does hear Niall’s ensuing screech as he runs out of the room, eyes covered. The door bounces off its hinges as hits the wall, the frames rattling against the wall.

Harry’s forehead drops to the pillow by Louis’ head as he closes his eyes and wonders how his life choices have brought him to this moment. He pulls his fingers out of Louis slowly and brings them up to Louis’ chest, sticky with lube as they land just above his heart, slow motions on his chest to try to calm his racing heart.

“We could try again?” Harry asks hopefully, already knowing what the answer’s going to be.

“Absolutely not, my boner’s killed now. Thanks for that, Horan!” he yells the last part through the open door, and there’s a meek “Sorry!” that comes from Niall in the bathroom.

Harry sighs and buries his face in Louis’ shoulder again. “Come on, let’s get a shower and then I’ll make you breakfast before your meeting.”

Louis takes his hand in his own and kisses him once, soft and sweet and long, and Harry reminds himself to lock the door next time.

*

_The first time they have sex is magical._

_Well, by Hollywood standards, it’s actually a disaster: it’s full of awkward fumbling and all kinds of weird noises and both of them coming way too soon, but it’s also the best thing Harry has ever felt in his eighteen years of life. He and Louis have been officially dating for about three full hours now, and they love each other, and he feels like he’s floating._

_“You know,” Louis says as he wipes come off Harry’s chest with a tissue, “all the times I pictured this moment over this semester, this isn’t what I was expecting. Thought it’d be a bit more, like..._ romantic _, you know? And with less embarassing noises. I also thought it’d last longer than seven minutes, if I’m being honest.”_

_“It was plenty romantic,” Harry says dreamily. “It was with you.”_

_So yeah, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s with Louis, and the two of them have the rest of their lives to figure it out._

_(They haven’t talked about forever yet, but he knows Louis is it for him.)_

_“You wanna try again?” Louis asks hopefully, and Harry grins._

*

“Hazza, we really don’t need to buy _organic_ frozen waffles,” Louis says the next morning as he moves to take them out of the cart and put them back in the freezer.

“But those are the best kind!”

“Harry, they’re so much more expensive, come on. You can get the regular kind.”

Harry pouts and crosses his arms against the handle of the shopping cart. “We can afford it, it’s fine.”

“We can’t, Harry, not unless you want to put the ice cream back.”

“No, we can’t do that, I want to eat ice cream and watch TV with you tonight like we’ve been talking about for weeks,” Harry answers, practically a whine.

“Well then, I guess we’re getting the non-organic waffles,” Louis says, putting them back in the freezer. Harry wants to be annoyed, until Louis says, “Hey, is there a word for things that aren’t organic other than ‘non-organic’?” and he’s too distracted thinking about that to be annoyed anymore.

“I...have no clue,” Harry says, muttering around the pen cap between his teeth as he crosses _waffles_ off the list. “What a weird question.”

“Shut up, it’s not like you’re any better, Mr. ‘Why is a baby kangaroo called a joey and a baby giraffe and elephant are both called calves?’”

“The naming structure makes no sense!” Harry protests, pushing the cart forward so that they can get the butter. He grabs the kind they always get off the shelf, passing it to Louis so he can put it in the cart. “Hey, have you thought any more about what your advisor said the other day?”

Louis sighs his way into a pout as Harry crosses the aisle to the bread.“No, I haven’t had time.” He turns back to see Louis pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always does when he’s stressed. “No, get the other bread.”

“I thought this kind was your favorite.”

“No, the cinnamon raisin one is my favorite. But for toast, I like the wheat kind.”

“But I always buy the farmhouse one, and you eat it every time.”

“Because I tell you every time that the wheat one is my favorite, and you always forget,” Louis says, sighing. “But whatever, I’m used to the farmhouse one now, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, Lou, we can buy your kind, it’s fine,” Harry says, putting his choice back on the shelf a bit mournfully, but grabbing Louis’ choice off the shelf for him all the same. “I didn’t realize you didn’t like this one.”

“I tell you literally every time,” Louis mutters, irritated. “But it’s honestly fine, we can get yours.”

“Lou, why are you making a big deal out of this? I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m not making a big deal out of it. Whatever, it’s fine. Come on, let’s go, we need to get Niall’s car back to him.”

Louis heads in the direction of the baking aisle, presumably to grab the ingredients that Harry needs for his famous lemon meringue pie. He’d promised to bake it for everyone tomorrow as a sort of ‘good luck on midterms’ gesture, but now he doesn’t even feel in the mood.

“Lou, wait,” Harry calls, trying to chase after him, but Louis walks quickly when he wants to get away and Harry’s forced to navigate a half-full shopping cart through crowded aisles. Normally, Harry loves grocery shopping, and it’s even better when it’s with Louis, because it feels like the most normal, domestic thing, something they’ll be doing together for years and years. But now it just feels stressful. Anytime Louis is mad at him, his blood feels a little hot and his head starts to hurt.

“Is that it?” Louis asks flatly once Harry’s caught up to him and he’s dropped sugar, flour and lemon zest into the cart. “Can we go?”

“Lou, I’m sorry I fucked up. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I love you,” he says, looking at him with wide puppy dog eyes and a careful smile. He dares to take a step closer to Louis, and he considers it a good sign when Louis doesn’t move away.

“We can get your wheat bread for the rest of our lives, I swear it,” Harry continues, because if there’s anything that makes Louis stop being mad, it’s sappy talk about the two of them being together forever. Even now, he can tell that Louis is fighting a smile. It’s Harry’s master plan for winning over Louis, and it works nearly every time.

Step one, disarm with the dimples. Step two, bring up domesticity. And then Harry pulls out the secret weapon, step three: “What can I do to make it up to you?” Harry asks in a low tone, taking another step closer and bringing his hand up to rest on Louis’ waist, fingertips lightly grazing along the thin material of his t-shirt.

Step three: flirt like hell and hope for the best.

He’s not sure who moves first, him or Louis, but suddenly Louis’ back is pressed up against the shelves holding bags of flour, and Harry’s kissing him like he’s just come home from war. It’s a long, deep kiss, one where Louis’ tongue is sliding against his and sparks are exploding inside his chest.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Louis says against his lips when he finally pulls away. Harry’s heart is racing and the two of them have kissed in a lot of inappropriate places, but the baking aisle at the local Stop & Shop is definitely a new one. When he pulls away to look at Louis, he seems a bit dazed. “I’m just stressed about that meeting and I overreacted. It’s just bread. Don’t really care what kind we get. I’m sorry.”

“‘S’okay,” Harry says, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans as they walk toward the registers. “Let’s go home.”

When they get out to the car, Louis realizes that he forgot something in the store. “Just one thing,” he says with a smile, “I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

Four minutes and twenty eight seconds later, the groceries loaded and the cart put away, Harry’s sitting behind the wheel, bouncing out a rhythm against the steering wheel with his palms as he waits. The door opens abruptly and Louis slides into the passenger seat, and he’s got--

Sunflowers. A big bouquet of sunflowers.

“For you,” he says simply, pressing them into Harry’s hands. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

After that, Harry can’t be blamed for the fact that it takes them another fifteen minutes to get out of the parking lot.

*

It’s a breezy Tuesday in October when Harry meets Ed. He’s sitting in the teacher’s room at the school, just having taught his second lesson by himself, feeling a little bit high on how well it went. He’s replying to a text from Louis ( **how’d it go Hazza ur a star** ) telling him all about it and thinking about what he's going to have for dinner when a guy slides into the seat across from him.

“Do you go to BU too?” He asks, oblivious to Harry’s sudden shock. He’s got a ton of a red hair and a friendly smile, and though he’s scared Harry half to death, he looks like a normal guy.

“I, uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

“Your keychain,” the guy says, tilting his head toward the BU Terriers keychain Harry has on his backpack.

“Ah. My keychains always give me away,” Harry says with a smile. “I’m Harry, I’m with the art teacher.”

“Ed. Music teacher. Nice to meet you.”

It’s easy to talk to him, both about their students and college and traveling - Ed’s from Connecticut but he’s got grandparents that live in England so he’s been there a lot. Harry wonders if this is what he’s been looking for, a bit of stability, the normalcy of making a new friend in the midst of a busy semester. a new friend to break up his days and make things seem fresh again.

Harry’s lunch break is over too soon and he has to get back to class, but he tells Ed that it was lovely to meet him and he’ll be back in a few days.

“Hey,” Ed calls when he’s leaving. “Are you going to the Homecoming game?”

Harry nods. The Homecoming football game is legendary. Any famous person who’s ever attended the university always comes out, there’s a parade of celebrities and plebeians alike, and the parties are wild. Last year, Niall’s frat had had to shut down their party midway through the night because someone ended up stuck on their roof and the fire department needed to come rescue him. As a senior, Homecoming is the most elite of all events: you absolutely do not miss it. Niall’s already planning for them all to spend the weekend in a drunken haze.

“Cool, maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe you will.”

After he leaves the school, Harry has a meeting with his advisor just to check in, and then he calls his mum to say hi. Gone are the days when they had scheduled phone calls; he’s settled in by now, and though he loves talking to her, it’s not the life raft it once was. Luckily, they’re both pretty happy about that change of pace. She reminds him that he needs to talk to Louis about coming to their house for Thanksgiving, that he still needs to order a birthday present for Robin, that she misses him.

It’s a long trek home, the green line train breaking down halfway there and all the passengers having to schlep to a new train; Harry doesn’t even care, because Homecoming is this weekend and he’s just had his second day of teaching and no one has cried yet (including himself) and he has someone to talk to while he eats lunch now. Not a bad deal.

“Hello?” he calls when he gets into the apartment, kicking off his shoes at the door. It’s completely dark,  which is strange because he _knows_ Louis is home. “Louis?”

He turns around and nearly stumbles in surprise, finding the living room is flooded with candles. There are candles on the TV stand, candles on the mantlepiece, candles along the ledge of the window. There has to be dozens of little jar candles flickering around the room. And yet, there’s no one here.

“Hello?” he tries again. “Anyone in here?”

“I’m in here, love,” Louis calls from the kitchen. “It’s just me.”

Suspicious, Harry drops his bag by the staircase and makes his way into the kitchen. Louis is in shorts and a t-shirt, and he’s opening a bottle of wine. It’s not like Harry will ever say no to a glass of a nice red, but what the hell is going on?

“Hi Lou,” Harry says, taking the bottle and the opener from Louis and setting them down on the counter as he wraps his hands around Louis’ waist from behind. He nuzzles into Louis’ shoulder and closes his eyes, allowing himself to breathe him in after a long day.

“Hi baby,” Louis says, snuggling back. “How was your day?”

“Was good,” Harry mumbles, lips pressed against Louis’ shoulder. “What’re you doin’?”

“Well, Harold,” Louis says, turning in Harry’s arms and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, “I didn’t get to be here when you got home after teaching your first lesson, so I figured being here for your second was almost as good.”

“Just as good,” Harry corrects. “So is that what all the candles are for?”

“Mmm, yeah. I know you like the smell. Looks pretty too, doesn’t it?”

Privately, Harry’s a little bit suspicious that there isn’t more to it -- but _no_. He won’t allow himself to think about Louis proposing until it actually happens. It’s not gonna happen anytime soon; they’re still trying to figure out how the next six months will go, they have no time to be thinking about _marriage. Right?_

“What are we eating?” Harry asks, pulling away to wash his hands -- because he knows that if Louis is pouring wine for them, there’s going to be food as well -- but not until he’s given Louis a long kiss that makes heat start to build in the base of his spine.

“Pizza,” Louis admits, almost a bit sheepishly. He doesn’t think Louis has anything to be embarrassed about; Harry loves pizza. “But the good kind, the one from the grocery store. It’s in the oven.”

“My hero,” Harry says, flicking water droplets from his hands at Louis’ face before drying them on a towel. Louis squeals, and then they're chasing each other around the tiny kitchen in their bare feet.

*

Homecoming weekend is a blur, a haze of alcohol and food and parties and more alcohol that all starts on Thursday night. Harry runs into a guy from one of his classes the year before who’s graduated now and working, and he tells Harry to live it up, that there’s nothing like being in college and the real world kind of sucks. The only response Harry can come up with to that is to drink more, because he can’t quite believe that they’re actually going to graduate. Right now it feels like they’re going to be in this little bubble forever, and he honestly refuses to think otherwise.

Their team wins the Homecoming football game, which only serves to make everyone rush to the bars for more alcohol, and Harry wakes up on Sunday afternoon to find Niall at the kitchen counter trying to work his way through a breakfast sandwich and Liam throwing back water like it’s hurting him. Harry’s not feeling much better, so he decides to make pancakes for them all, only if they promise to all be quiet while he does it.

“No problem, dude,” Niall rasps, closing his eyes again. “Don’t think we’ll be talking too much anyway, feel like I might have to throw up again.”

They spend the afternoon in a hungover haze, only venturing out to the dining hall once they’ve all started to recover.

“A toast!” Liam cries at the table that night, and everyone groans.

“Don’t even say the word,” Zayn mutters, thumbs rubbing over his temples.

“To a successful final homecoming!” Liam says, and yeah, that’s something they can all get behind.

*

Louis is in a play again this year, _Guys and Dolls_ , and he’s once again playing the lead. As far as Harry can see, it’s one of the only things that brings him joy anymore; the stress of going to classes he hates is wearing him down, and there are plenty of days when Harry has to physically push him out the door and threaten to withhold sex unless he goes.

Louis tends to hang out with his theater friends after rehearsals, which he seems to feel a little bad about at the start until Harry encourages him to keep doing it. They’ve never been one of those couples that feels like they can’t have other friends; if they’re attached at the hip it’s because they choose to be.

Unfortunately, it means that they barely see each other anymore, as Louis is so busy with his show; so, instead, Harry branches out. Sometimes after teaching Harry hangs out with Ed, or heads to the Museum of Fine Arts to see his favorite paintings just because he can, or goes for a run along the river. He also spends a lot of time with Liam, who’s still mopey about Sophia, much to everyone’s concern.

“It makes sense, I know it does,” Niall confides one rare morning when Louis and Harry are both actually awake and home at the same time, drinking tea on the couch, legs tangled together before they have to go to class. “But, like, he has to get over her at some point. Right?”

“How did you feel, when it was you?” Harry asks, and Louis kicks him in vague irritation. They’re supposed to be kissing, is the thing. Tea and kissing, that was the plan. Until Niall joined in.

“Like shit. For weeks.”

“Exactly. So I think we need to give him a break. But, we _also_ need to do something to take his mind off it,” Harry says.

“I guess we’ll figure something out. He can’t be mopey forever,” Niall says as he stands up and leaves the room. “Alright, I’ll leave the two of you to make heart eyes at each other now.”

“We weren’t gonna--” Harry starts, but then Louis pulls him forward by the t-shirt and kisses the words right out of his mouth.

*

Harry’s sharing a couch with Zayn as they watch TV one afternoon before they both have to go to class, some historical drama they both love but rarely make time to watch. He’s got his head leaning against Zayn’s shoulder, blinking sleepily at the screen.

“Harry,” Liam says as he bursts through the front door. Zayn tenses, reaches up to fix his hair, sits up a bit straighter. “I think I figured out what to do.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, taking the flier Liam pushes into his hand.

“How to make myself feel better, how to find myself again. I’m gonna run a half marathon.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Wow, Li, that’s great!”

“And you’re going to do it with me.”

Um. What?

“You're joking.”

“No, I've already signed us both up. You owe me fifty bucks, by the way.”

“Liam.”

“What?” he asks, toeing off his shoes and collapsing in the armchair that used to belong to Harry’s grandma. It makes a creaky sound as Liam freezes and then slowly resettles, and the old, musty chair survives another inhabitant.

“When is this race?”

“End of February,” Liam answers, and now at least he has the good sense to look nervous.

“You signed up for a race that's in February, in the middle of winter, in Boston?” Zayn asks, incredulous.

“Liam,” Harry says weakly, “last year we had _nine feet of snow_. You want us to train in that?”

“I want us to try. Come on, _you're_ the one that said I needed to set my mind on a goal so I’d stop moping around!”

“Yeah, but I didn't think you were gonna involve _me_!”

“Well,” Liam says firmly, “too bad, you’re signed up now, no backing out. Our first training run is Saturday.”

Harry tells Louis about this rather shocking update as they’re getting ready for bed that night and, predictably, Louis thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“ _You’re_ gonna run a half marathon?” he asks incredulously

“Yes, Lou, I am,” Harry answers with a pout, pulling his shirt off over his head.

“Ten bucks says you spend most of the race flailing around the course,” Louis grins, sliding under the covers and flicking off the light. Harry grumbles about having to finish undressing in the dark, but he’s got more important things to worry about right now.

“Thanks for your massive show of support,” Harry says in exasperation as he climbs in on his side of the bed.

“Baby, no,” Louis says very seriously, index finger under Harry’s chin to get their eyes to meet. “You know I’m gonna be the head of the cheering squad. It’s just a funny picture.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, snuggling in closer so he can rest his head on Louis’ chest to feel the steady beat of his heart. “You gonna make me a sign?”

“I’m gonna make you the biggest, most obnoxious sign you’ve ever seen.”

“It better have glitter,” Harry insists through a yawn.

“Don’t worry. There will definitely be glitter.”

*

The next few weeks pass in a blur. Harry’s time is filled with assignments and classwork and reluctantly joining Liam on his training runs before Harry realizes that it’s not actually that bad; then there’s staying up late with Louis when he gets home from rehearsals to help him run through his lines; and, of course, there’s trying not to stress about Louis’ future job situation, and going out a _lot_ to forget the fact that they’re all graduating in six months.

Before Harry has time to even catch his breath, it’s the middle of November and they’re hosting new tradition Harry has decided to call Friendsgiving in their apartment.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Harry whispers into Louis’ ear.

“This was your idea, if you’ve forgotten,” Louis replies in a low voice, moving away from where one of Harry’s curls is tickling his ear.

“Why did you let me, though, is the real question?” Harry turns so that he’s backed up against the counter, right next to where Louis is currently chopping potatoes. He can see his face better this way, can see the concentration in his movements, can tell that he’s trying not to chop his own finger off.

“I think it was some poetic bullshit about family and togetherness and thankfulness, if I remember correctly.”

“Was I drunk?” Harry asks, watching Liam struggle to take a dish of asparagus out of the oven. Harry reaches over and takes a slice of potato and pops it into his mouth.

“Gross, stop that! Those aren’t even cooked yet,” Louis chastises. “And yes, I think you were drunk.”

“Mmm, I’ll survive,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the back of Louis’ neck before crossing the small kitchen to rescue Liam, who’s dressed in a bright red apron with polka dots that Niall borrowed from his mother. Niall’s taken great delight in this, and already posted a photo on his instagram to immortalize the moment forever.

“Thanks, Haz,” Liam says, leaning back against the kitchen counter once they’ve got the asparagus dish sitting on top of the oven cooling. “This Friendsgiving thing is a bitch to coordinate.”

“Just be glad the girls are cooking the turkey,” Niall interjects as he and Zayn come into the room, cases of beer in their hands. “My mum made me help her last Thanksgiving. Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Lou, Perrie _is_ cooking the turkey, right? You checked?” Harry asks, panic clear on his face. If Louis forgot to ask Perrie about it when he saw her yesterday, their whole dinner will be ruined.

“Yes, Harold, calm down. Texted her this morning.”

“Oh thank god. Okay. So what’s left?”

“The living room’s all decorated, I set up the plates earlier,” Zayn says. “You did the desserts. Once we cook the potatoes, I think that’s it.”

“Well then, who wants a beer?” Niall asks, and everyone raises their hands.

 *

Two hours later, they’re sitting on cushions on the floor with Perrie, Jade, Leigh-Anne and Jesy, all of them sufficiently stuffed and tipsy on wine and beer. Harry’s handing out slices of pie anyway, because there’s always more room for dessert.

“Harry, this is so good! You’ll have to send me the recipe,” Leigh-Anne says through a mouthful of blueberry pie.

“You know that I used to be--” Harry starts.

“Yes, love, we know you used to be a baker. We’re very proud. Now come sit down, you’ve done enough.” Louis tugs on his ankle and then suddenly Harry is falling, tripping onto Louis’ lap and landing nearly on top of him.  
  
“Ouch, get your knee off me,” Louis complains, but Harry just resettles and cuddles up against him. He can pinpoint the moment that Louis gives up on pretending not to like it, because he curls both arms around Harry’s waist and pulls him close.

“So I just wanted to say thank you all for coming,” Harry says, reaching for his glass of red wine.

“Harry, we really don’t need a speech,” Liam starts, but Louis tells him to shut up, and then Harry’s able to continue.

“I’m very thankful for this group of people, and college wouldn’t be what it is without any of you. You’re all very special to me.”

“Some of us more important than others though, huh?” Zayn says, poking Harry in the arm just as Louis kisses him on the temple.

Harry doesn’t bother answering -- there’s not a single argument he could make that anyone would believe anyway -- and he continues, “I can’t believe we’re all graduating soon, and to tell you the truth I’m trying not to think about it too much because it scares the fuck out of me. So, I’m just gonna continue to drink wine, and I suggest you all do the same.”

Everyone laughs and cheers to that, and Harry has more to say, wants them all to know how desperately he loves them, but there’s a chance he’ll cry and he doesn’t want that, and he’s distracted by Louis tickling his side, and then the conversation starts up again and he never gets a chance to say it.

He’s pretty sure they already know anyway.

*

Harry’s ripped from sleep by a tugging at his arm, a kind of pawing that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard he tries. His sleep-muddle brain decides it’s just his cat, but even after he pulls his arm away, the pawing continues.

“Harry, ouch, stop it!”

He opens his eyes and -- that is _definitely_ not his cat. That’s Louis, fingers lightly prodding the side of his own jaw.

“Lou, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Bloody scratched me, and I was just trying to wake you up the nicest way I know how.”

“That’s definitely not the nicest way you know how,” Harry protests, hands reaching for Louis to pull him back into bed. “Come on, get back in.”

Louis shakes his head. “This is your fifteen minute warning, Gemma’s got food ready downstairs and she says to tell you we’re going whether you want to come or not.”

Harry groans and throws his arm over his eyes because he’d totally forgotten about Black Friday shopping. That explains the pounding in his head and the darkness outside his window. It’s far too early for normal people.

“I don’t want to go,” Harry mumbles, rolling over onto his side and curling up. He was having such a lovely dream, too. He and Louis were on a boat in the middle of the ocean soaking up the sun and drinking rosé. He’d much rather be doing that than being dragged to the mall to deal with over-excited shoppers and the risk of getting crushed in a stampede of bargain shoppers.

“You have to. Otherwise Gemma will leave without you, come on,” Louis protests, tugging his hand and trying to pull him up.

“Stop, I’m too hungover for this,” Harry complains, even as he lets Louis roll him back over.

“If you don’t come then Gemma and I will just spend the whole time making fun of you,” Louis threatens.

“You’re gonna do that anyway,” Harry mumbles and he just gets a shrug in return. Gemma and Louis have probably exhausted their supply of embarrassing Harry stories over the past three years, but there’s always new material. He can’t let them swap stories like trading cards to use against him.  “Fine, fine, I’m getting up.”

“Thank you,” Louis says happily as Harry swings his legs over the side of the bed. Louis drops a kiss to his forehead and then skips away, calling back that he’ll see Harry downstairs in five minutes and not a single second more.

God, for someone who hates getting up early Louis is a massive proponent of Black Friday. It had started sophomore year (and they’d had Thanksgiving at Harry’s house that year, too, though it was their first time as a couple, which made things a hundred times better than the previous year). Louis and Gemma had convinced Harry to go Black Friday shopping -- Louis wanted to get the new XBox and Gemma wanted to get a headstart on her Christmas list.

Louis had loved it, had been entranced by the whole thing. He’d insisted they did it again the next year, and now it’s basically a tradition. And, yes, Harry is a big believer in tradition, but this one is definitely not his favorite; Louis and Gemma had both looked at Harry like he was crazy for hoping they could skip it this year.

He ambles downstairs once he’s ready and dressed, but he can’t make any promises about the state of his outfit. There are some occasions when it’s just not worth trying that hard. His eyes are barely open as he meanders into the kitchen and eyes the cup of coffee Gemma’s already prepared for him.

“Gem, do we _have_ to do this? I’m hungry and it’s still dark out and it’s far too early for this nonsense. Can’t you shop online like the rest of the American populace?”

“Oh, be quiet Harry. Let’s go, you can grab your leftover breakfast muffins if you really feel that hungry.”

Harry turns to take one of the muffins from their container in the bread box, and hits his head on the open kitchen cabinet door in the process. It’s a hard hit, a solid whack, and he clutches his head immediately. Now that he’s injured, maybe the two of them will let him off the hook.

“Not a chance, buddy,” Gemma says, an answer to the question written on Harry’s face. “Hurry up, the lines are only getting longer the more you stand here and pretend to be injured.”

“That really hurt though,” Harry complains. “And, look, there are only two muffins left, there’s no way that’ll fill me up.”

“Here,” Louis says, crossing the kitchen to get to him. “Open up.” Harry does, and then Louis sticks a peeled banana in his mouth. “There, stop being a whiny noodle.”

“That’s, uh--I’m not gonna ask,” Gemma says, eyebrows raised. Her face is the picture of scandalized, and privately, Harry thinks she should know better, having known Harry for a long twenty-one years and Louis for three.

Harry mumbles his thanks around the banana in his mouth, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the glint in Louis’ eyes. He’s evil, forcing Harry to go out shopping with him for hours when they could be snuggled up together in bed.

Louis passes Harry his to-go coffee mug and then they’re out the door, piling into the car. Louis is in the backseat and Harry’s trying to snooze in the front seat, and all the while Louis and Gemma chatter excitedly about all the things they’re hoping to buy.

Just as he’s finally starting to fall back to sleep, they arrive at the mall, and Harry’s horrified to see that they have to park at the very back of the lot.

“How are there already this many people here?” Gemma asks, wide eyed.

“Maybe we should just go home,” Harry suggests brightly. “We can go back to bed, and come back later in the day like normal people.”

“No, Harold, I’m getting the new XBox console whether you like it or not.”

“But you got one two years ago,” Harry grumbles, mostly for the sake of showing his resistance. He might as well put up with it now; they all know he’s staying put.

“Yeah, but this one is different. Better.” Louis says as they approach the massive line of waiting shoppers.

“Why did we drink so much wine last night?” Gemma asks as they take a seat on the curb at the back of the crowd. There have to be at least a hundred people in front of them, all of them shivering in the cold. Harry still cannot believe they’re here more than an hour before the store opens.

“It’s the little one’s fault,” Harry says, tilting his head toward Louis. “He can drink us all under the table.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a low tolerance, love. Been trying to build you up for years now but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“I thought you said I was a cute drunk,” Harry says with a pout before he drops his head to rest on Louis’ shoulder and it’s not comfortable but Harry wouldn’t need much to fall back asleep right now.

“You are,” Louis says, his lips pressed to Harry’s head. “Always have been, probably always will be.”

“The two of you are gross,” Gemma says with an exaggerated shudder. “I should’ve come alone, then I wouldn’t want to puke every five seconds.”

“Heyyy,” Harry complains.

“She’s right though, we are fairly disgusting. It’s all Harry’s fault, he’s the sappy one.”

“That is _not_ true!” Harry protests.

“Shut up, Harry,” Gemma interrupts. “The only reason I hope the two of you get married is so that I can finally have a brother that I love.”

“And I’m only dating you so I can hang out with Gemma whenever I want,” Louis adds.

With Harry caught in the middle, the two of them high five and then stick their tongues out at him. It’s more than a little disconcerting, and the thing is that Harry’s not even sure they’re lying.

*

“Listen, I’m just saying that you would never have gotten that XBox if not for me--”

“Yes, praise be to you and your weirdly long noodle arms,” Louis cuts in, “but it _is_ your fault that we couldn’t get the extra games.”

“I’m not going over this again, I already apologized,” Harry says, dropping his bags on the kitchen counter and sidling up to Louis. “Though there are other ways I can apologize further, if you want,” he murmurs quietly into Louis’ ear as he wraps his hands around his waist, walking them backward until Louis is pressed up against the pantry door.

“Ew, gross, can the two of you _please_ stop it? You're here for less than a week, keep it to yourselves.”

Not quietly enough, then. He pulls his gaze away from Louis to see Gemma wearing a disgusted look as she stands in the entryway. It's more for show than anything else, but Harry still quickly kisses Louis and then pulls away, back to unloading the groceries they’d picked up on the way home from the mall.

(“How could we possibly need _more_ food?” Louis had asked. “Wasn't yesterday's feast enough?” His question was, of course, met with resounding denial.)

“Good morning, kids!” The three of them turn to see Anne coming into the kitchen, her pink fluffy bathrobe wrapped around her like a blanket. Harry had tried to get her to stop wearing it around Louis, and she’d obliged the first time he was here, but since then she’s refused. He kinda likes it though; it means she sees Louis as more than just a guest, sees him as an extension of the family. “Did you have a lovely time?”

“We did!” Gemma says cheerily as she slips the eggs onto the countertop. “Harry wasn’t so pleased though. Think he’s a bit grumpy or something.”

“Think I’m gonna go take a nap,” Harry grumbles, proving her point and not caring one bit. “Lou, you wanna come?”

“No, no, come back. I need you help with the French toast,” his mum begs, stopping Harry with a hand on his arm.

“What about Lou?”

“Louis can do whatever he wants, dear, he deserves a break.”

“What the--how is that--”

Louis gives him a gloating look and prances out of the kitchen arm in arm with Gemma, the two of them talking about what movie they should watch while Harry and Anne cook.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to spend time with his mum, because he hasn’t gotten nearly enough one-on-one time with her in the three days or so that he’s been home, but he just really, _really_ wants a nap. No such luck though; he can never say no to her.

“So, Harry, tell me about school.”

*

“I like it here,” Louis mumbles against his naked shoulder that night, the two of them pressed close together in Harry’s childhood bed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, reaching up to push Harry’s hair away from his forehead. “I mean, I knew that I did before, I liked it that very first time, but...it feels different now. Feels like I belong. Feels a bit like home.”

Harry’s silent for a few moments, letting Louis’ words spin around in his head, giving them time to settle into his blood. He knows it, has known it for a long time actually, but it’s still nice to be reminded that they’re on the same page, that their feelings are mutual.

“But maybe that’s just cause you’re here,” Louis continues, reaching over to run his fingers along the ship tattoo on Harry’s arm. Harry smiles at the memory of their confessions that day, of how everything since that has felt simultaneously more settled and a little bit more wild, like all the walls have been broken down between them.

“Love you,” Harry says in response, because he feels a little too choked up with how sappy the two of them are to really find the words to say anything else.

“Eh, not too crazy about you,” Louis answers, pulling away to turn on the bedside light. “Only kidding, I love you. Can we talk about some stuff?”

Harry’s immediate reaction is to say no, to turn the light back off and drift off to sleep like he’d been thinking they were about to do. But he’s hopeless to deny Louis anything that’s in his power, so he nods.

“I talked to my mum, and I’m gonna say no if I get into any of the grad schools I applied to.”

Harry’s heart is beating faster in his chest, but he reins his his thousand or so questions and waits for him to continue. “I want to be with you more than anything else in the world, I need you to know that. But for myself, I can’t keep studying something I don’t want to do, and I need to figure out the right path. So if that means I have to go back to England for a little bit and figure it out before I can come back, so be it.”

“Lou…”

“I know, Hazza. Us being separated again is the very worst possible thing I can think of. But if it means we can actually be together, forever? Then I think it’s worth it. It’d only be for a bit, only until I find a job, and who knows if it’ll even happen? There’s still months before we graduate. We don’t know for sure that that’s how it’ll work.”

Harry doesn’t have the words, because what _is_ there to say? Louis might be leaving him (again) for a while, or he might not, and neither of them will know for months. He can just ignore it until then.

“You’re the love of my life, Harry Styles. We’re gonna make it work.”

*

“Fucking...fuck, fucking Liam…” Harry mutters, finally getting inside the apartment and falling back against the door as it slams shut. He pulls off his bright red beanie with shaking fingers and closes his eyes as his head hits the door. He takes deep breaths, wondering how he got himself into this mess and how he’s gonna get out of it.

“You okay, love?”

Harry opens his eyes to see Louis coming down the stairs, a concerned look on his face.

“’M alright, yeah,” Harry says after a minute. “Might have to murder Liam though. Just a head’s up.”

Louis steps closer until he’s right in Harry’s space, and then he wrinkles his nose, no doubt at the fact that Harry needs a shower rather desperately.

“What’d he do?”

“We ran five miles,” Harry explains, chest still heaving. “Five. Miles. It’s fucking freezing out there, did you know that? Turns out the winters here are really cold, not sure if you’re aware! And I got a _stitch_ in my _side_ so Liam, lovely guy that he his, he told me to run right back home.”

“Well, that’s nice of him, at least--”

“Oh, no. No. I have to do fifty push ups first, _with a witness_ , and _then_ I can be done.”

“Where is he?” Louis turns around, as if he’s looking for him.

“Went on to run another three, I think,” Harry says, shrugging a shoulder. "He's fucking insane." Maybe he can convince Louis to get into the shower with him; a warm, wet naked Louis is one of his favorite things, and would certainly lift his mood.

“And you have to do push ups?” Louis takes a step closer, his face mischievous.

“I’m supposed to, but what Liam doesn’t know won’t hurt him. D’you want to take a shower?” He pushes himself up off the door, his leg muscles crying in protest, and tugs at the sleeve of Louis’ jumper to pull him to the stairs.

“No, no, you should do your push ups,” Louis insists, peeling Harry’s fingers off his sleeve.

“You just want to sit there and watch me sweat,” Harry says, because Louis thinks this whole running thing is absolutely hilarious, when he’s not blatantly ogling Harry’s body. Harry thinks Louis should be more appreciative of the benefits; Louis says his blatant ogling _is_ appreciation.

“No, I’ve got an idea,” Louis says. “I saw it online, I’ve wanted to try it for ages.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but allows Louis to pull him further into the hallway. He watches as Louis lays on his back, legs extended, and tells Harry to get on top of him. He narrows his eyes.

“When you say on the internet, did you see it in some kind of weird porno?” He still strips off his jacket, though, leaving him in a t-shirt, and he doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes run down his body as he positions himself on top of Louis.

“Just do what I say, Harold. You really shouldn’t need this much encouragement.”

“If we’re gonna have sex can we not do it in the middle of the hall?”

Louis smacks his shoulder. “Do you ever think about anything else, honestly.” Harry raises an eyebrow, because no, not really, but neither does Louis. “You’re gonna do the push ups and you’ll get a kiss for each one. And then if you’re good, I’ll let you blow me in the shower.”

“Oh, you’re gonna let me?” Harry says with a laugh. “Like it’s a privilege?”

Louis smacks him again. “Don’t pretend it’s not,” he says, and he’s got a point. “Get on with the push ups, please, I’d like some kisses.”

He sighs heavily and then brings himself up on his hands into the proper position. Louis nods, and then Harry begins.

“One,” Louis says with a kiss. “Two.” Kiss. “Three.” The kisses are quick, just little pecks, but Harry finds it weirdly motivating. It’s probably not his best form, but what Liam doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s dripping sweat onto Louis’ face by number thirty three, droplets that Louis doesn’t have time to wipe off before Harry’s back down for another kiss. He doesn’t start to struggle until forty four, when all he wants to do is drop down and never get up again.

“Come on, baby, you got this,” Louis encourages. “Six left.”

He doesn’t know where he finds the strength to push through, but push up fifty finds him dropping his weight on top of Louis, his arms shaky as he lifts them over his head to shake them out.

“D’you not want a fiftieth kiss?” Louis asks.

“Too tired,” Harry mumbles, and that’s when Louis hooks a leg around Harry’s hip and rolls them over. He presses his hips into Harry’s as he kisses him, long and deep, and they’re still kissing in the middle of the hallway fifteen minutes later when Liam comes home.

*

Harry has done six rounds of final exams by now, and they never seem to get any easier. He should have the routine down by now, but the end of classes and the feelings of stress that hang over the campus like a dark cloud always take him by surprise.

He’s only got two exams and an essay, as well as a big lesson planning project for his education class that’s taken up every free moment of the last few days. He also needs to give a presentation on his classroom assignment, which requires taking all that he’s learned in the past few months of student teaching and distilling it into a five minute speech. It’s impossible to talk about the way that little Olivia in the first grade class makes him want to have his own child -- _immediately_ \-- or the way that Martin in the third grade makes him laugh with silly questions or how happy he’d felt when Alice in fifth grade told him he’s the best teacher she’s ever had.

How does he take all of that, all the moments over the past few months that have made me laugh and want to tear his hair out and given him hope about the futures of these kids, and talk about them in just a few short minutes? He can’t.

“Hi, love,” Louis says when he comes into the kitchen and takes a snack from the fridge. “How’s it going?”

He loosely wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, squatting down to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder to peer at the screen on the laptop, and Harry leans back into it, closing his eyes and appreciating the warm weight of Louis against him.

“I can’t do this. It’s impossible.”

“You can, and it’s not. You’re the best teacher I know, Harry, and you love those kids so much. You can do this.”

“It just seems silly,” Harry says, and Louis pulls away to take a seat next to him. He takes a bite of his apple and regards him with a small smile.

“What’s silly about it?”

“Those kids are so much more than just words on a screen. They’re funny, and they’re smart, and they’re talented, and sometimes they piss me off, but they’re all so _good_. How do I talk about that?”

“Exactly like that. Just write down how you feel. We can work on the presentation later, Haz, but -- listen. You always feel _so much_ , and that’s one of the things I love about you. Just think about the feelings, talk about them like you just did now, and it’ll be the best presentation you’ve ever done.”

Harry makes a noise that’s a cross between a sigh and a groan, but instead it just feels like something’s stuck in his throat. “Can we just go have sex or something instead?”

“Or something?” Louis asks with a laugh as he gets up from the table and drops a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “Finish your work, and then we’ll talk.”

“I hate you!” Harry calls to his retreating back, and he can hear Louis laughing as he goes up the stairs to their room.

He turns back to his laptop. He’s got a paper to finish and a boy upstairs to make out with.

*

“Liam, you’re so handsome,” Harry slurs, drawing his fingers over Liam’s face. “Have you ever thought about modeling? You should totally model. You’re such a model.” Liam traps his hand in his, stopping him with long fingers wrapped around his wrist, squeezing tight.

“No, you are,” Liam replies, his speech just as muddled. “The curls, your dimples, your smile. If anyone’s a model, it’s you.” He releases Harry’s hand and runs his fingers through his hair, not deterred by the fact he keeps getting them tangled in said curls. The Christmas music fills the room and it’s hard to hear much over all the happy voices surrounding them, but Liam’s close enough that he doesn’t have to yell.

“No, Liam, me ‘n’ Lou have talked about it, we think you should go into modeling.” Harry twists his arms around Liam’s neck and holds him close, making sure not to knock off the reindeer antlers Liam’s sporting in the process.

“Shut up, you’re drunk.”

“‘M not drunk. Niall!” he bellows across the living room full of people, oblivious to the way Liam winces at the sound right in his ear. “D’you think I’m drunk?”

“Pretty sure you are, dude,” Niall yells back. He’s talking to a pretty girl in a bright red dress, blonde hair curled around her face, and she’s laughing at them. She’s been to a few  of their parties and there’s a chance Niall is trying to date her. She should totally date Niall. Niall is the best.

“Okay, fine,” Harry says, voice slurred but steady. He takes a sip of his drink, the peppermint schnapps sliding down his throat. “I’m drunk. But, like, so are you.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty drunk,” Liam says, collapsing into a fit of giggles. He stumbles and rights himself by grabbing on to Harry, but the antlers slip off his head in the process. Harry and Liam both look down solemnly at the fallen antlers, but neither of them make a move to pick them up. Instead, Harry winds his leg around Liam’s leg, practically at his hip, feeling a bit like a drunken koala. Can koalas get drunk? Well, either way, Harry can. Harry _is_.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Harry clinging to Liam just because he can. Liam’s hair is soft against his cheek and Harry wants to make sure Liam knows that he’s just such a good person, the best. But then he can’t tell him because there’s a cheer when Niall and the girl in the red dress are forced under some mistletoe and end up making out against the wall. It was probably Louis who put them up to it, if Niall’s clear look of satisfied embarrassment is anything to go by.

From the corner of his eye, Harry can see Louis ambling over toward them, a little stickered bow from a present stuck to his cheek. “Oi, Payno, what are you doing with my boy?”

“He’s cuddlin’ me,” Harry explains.

“I am. It’s getting a bit uncomfortable though, d’you think we can move to the couch?” Liam asks. In response, Harry just reaches over to pull the gold bow off Louis’ face and presses it onto Liam’s cheek.

“What about me?” Louis asks with a pout.

“You can go cuddle with Zayn, Lou,” Liam says seriously. “You get Harry all the time, let me just have him for now.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, a delayed response as he unwinds his leg from Liam’s hip and lays down on the couch, reaching for Liam’s hand to pull him down too. “Go cuddle with Zayn. I’m hanging out with Liam.”

Louis pouts again for good measure, but he scuttles away all the same.

A half hour later, Harry wakes to an notification on his phone. Louis has posted a photo of the two of them spooned on the couch, soft and sleepy in the center of an otherwise wild party, and the caption is ‘ _Cuddle bugs !’_

*

Meeting the love of his life at eighteen years old is not something Harry takes for granted. It’s crazy and it’s wild and it’s the best, best thing he’s ever been privileged to experience.

It’s sunshine and cold feet pressed up against his in bed and fingers combing through hair and laughing so hard his stomach hurts. It’s a lifelong cheerleader, the most supportive boy he’s ever known, it’s having someone to hold him while he cries, it’s feeling like he’d do almost anything to make Louis happy.

It’s been three years of it, officially, and Harry can’t wait until they’re celebrating fifty three years, knows that he’ll still find Louis just as beautiful as he does today, but suspects that he’ll love him even more.

 **Meet me in the union at 7** , a text from Louis had read, and so that’s where Harry is now, sitting on a couch in the middle of the student union while he waits for Louis to pick him up. It’s not that he’s _nervous_ , exactly, but three years feels momentous, feels like a very long time. Except for that it’s just the beginning.

Three years, God. He can’t believe that it’s been that long. One seventh of his life. When he thinks about that first time he saw Louis, soft and sleepy in the dorm kitchen, he’d had no idea that everything in his life would one day center around that same boy in the hoodie. Everything comes back to Louis, that’s the thing, and it’s the surest truth he knows.

“Hey, stranger.”

He lifts his head from where he’s fiddling with the ring on his right hand, the one that Louis gave him for Christmas right after they started dating, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees Louis just a few feet away.

He’s dressed just like any other day, jeans and Vans and a hoodie, and it’s not exactly what Harry was expecting for their anniversary dinner but he doesn’t care, doesn’t mind that the whole evening is still a surprise. A swarm of butterflies takes flight in his stomach when they lock eyes and Louis smiles, and _that_ , right there, that smile is exactly what gets Harry up in the mornings.

“Hi, love,” Louis says as he approaches Harry, and Harry stands and kisses him, dropping the paper bag with Louis’ gift onto the couch behind him as he goes. He brings his hand to the back of Louis’ neck and the other to his cheek, and he kisses him and feels at home. He presses himself up the curves of Louis’ body, and they’re in public but it’s a Wednesday night and the union’s not busy and he’s in love and he, to be quite honest, doesn’t care who sees.

“Happy anniversary,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips between kisses, as if they hadn’t woken up tangled together this morning and gotten each other off before stumbling into the shower and kissing long enough to make Louis late for class. It’s been ten hours since they’ve seen each other, which is about nine and a half hours too long. It’s always too long, the separations, the summer breaks and Christmas breaks and weekends away. Harry can’t wait until it’s not a thing anymore.

“You ready to go?” Louis asks when he pulls away from the kiss. Harry already misses the slick brush of Louis’ against his, but he nods and slips his hand into Louis’ all the same, not making any further moves to widen the distance between them.

“Where are we going?”

Energy crackles in his veins as Louis draws him in for another kiss, and Harry can feel him smiling into it.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out when the time is right. Ooh, is that a present for me?” Louis asks eagerly, peering over his shoulder onto the couch, where the present lays on its side.

Harry smiles serenely. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he quips, reaching over to pick up the gift bag and letting Louis lead him out of the student union.

When Louis gets a surprise into his head, there’s absolutely no convincing him to give up the goods early (unlike Harry, who spoiled every one of his mum’s gifts until he was about twelve, too excited to hold the secret in until she could open the wrapping) so Harry knows to just let Louis lead the way. That’s why he was the one who’d gotten the compass, after all.

Idle chit chat about their days takes up most of the walk, Harry talking about the presentation he gave this morning and how happy he is to be done -- God, he’s actually a second semester senior, just weeks away from graduating, that’s fucking terrifying -- and Louis talking about plans for _next_ semester’s play, even though he’d only just closed his starring performance of _Guys and Dolls_ a few days ago. Harry is the proudest boyfriend in the world, had sat in the front row of every performance and cheered so loud that it was embarrassing. Louis had rewarded him by dragging them both out of the cast party early and tying him to their bed with a set of Harry’s favorite headscarves, so maybe Louis wasn’t that embarrassed after all.

He looks up and they’re at the entrance to their apartment. “Lou,” he says, tugging on Louis’ hand, “did you mean for us to go home? I thought we were going to dinner?” He’s very confused -- just last week, Louis had talked about buttery pasta and white wine and all the garlic bread Harry could ever want.

“We’re not going to dinner,” he says, a sly smile breaking over his face, and Harry knows that smile, has learned that it signals trouble, but he follows Louis up the steps anyway and crosses the threshold of their apartment with only a little hesitance.

“Lou,” he breathes when he sees the scene in the living room. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Louis admits, face hesitant. “I hope it’s not too simple. You probably wanted--”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry interrupts, turning to look at him, awe plain on his his face. “This is perfect. You are perfect.”

White Christmas tree lights are hung from every surface, pinned around the doorway and the window and over the fireplace that they’re not allowed to use. There’s soft music playing from Zayn’s surround sound system, a classical song that Harry can’t make out but is certain he’s heard before, and there’s a bottle of red wine on the coffee table next to two wrapped gifts. Most importantly, there’s a set of plates and a plastic bag full of takeout boxes from their favorite diner on the edge of the table.

“I thought we could have a nice night in,” Louis explains as Harry grabs his hands and rubs his thumbs over the backs softly, listening intently as he speaks. “Eat some food and talk and maybe watch a movie and get very drunk on your favorite wine. It’s been so long since we just hung out and I know it’s not fancy--”

“Louis,” Harry cuts in, “this is the very best third year anniversary I could have ever thought of. I don’t need fancy. I just need you.”

Louis’ face softens, and he leans into Harry then, closing the gap between them and brushing a kiss against his lips. “Love you.”

“Love _you_ ,” Harry responds, angling for another kiss. “I can’t believe you’re re-creating our first date.”

“So you noticed then, huh?” Louis asks as they finally leave the entranceway to get into the the living room. He’s just about to sit down when Harry stops him.

“Wait. If we’re not going fancy, can I go put on sweatpants? More comfy that way.”

“I like the way you think, baby,” Louis says, pushing Harry toward the stairs with fingertips prodding his lower back. “But no funny business, okay? Save it for later. I’m not as easy as you think I am.”

“Fuck off,” Harry retorts with a smile, reaching the top landing and opening the door to their bedroom. They’d forgotten to make the bed this morning, the covers strewn in three different directions, but Harry doesn’t bother fixing them as he quickly strips off his jeans and boots. What’s the point, when he knows that soon enough they’ll just be messing it up again? Why waste valuable sex time?

“Where are the others?” he asks as he pulls on a new t-shirt. He’s got the shirt halfway down his chest and his arms in the air when he catches Louis staring. He wiggles his eyebrows and finishes getting dressed, enjoying the way Louis is looking at him.

“Kicked them out for the night,” Louis says as they head back downstairs, like it’s a casual thing to ask three of their roommates to leave them alone for an entire night, like he didn’t make it so that the two of them could have a rare night free from interruptions. “I think they went to Niall’s house, you know how much Maura loves to spoil them.”

“I love you,” Harry says in answer, pushing him against the wall halfway down the stairs because he can’t wait a second longer to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis answers, pulling Harry back down the stairs. The food will be cold soon if they don’t hurry up and eat. God, Louis set up this whole room to be comfy and cozy and inviting, and Harry is so, so in love with him.

The food is burgers and french fries with waffles and fruit for dessert. “I know it’s a weird combination,” Louis says, almost apologetically, and Harry wants to kiss the uncertain smile off his face. “But we got burgers the first time we went there and we always go for waffles now, so I thought that--”

“Lou,” Harry stops him, a hand on his wrist. “Stop it. You’re perfect.”

Louis blushes and Harry has to lean over the table to kiss that look off his face, the dopey smile that Louis gets whenever Harry says something particularly loving or sappy. (Funnily enough, Louis gets that look a lot.)

The uncertainty is uncharacteristic, a sign that they’re both a little nervous even though there’s nothing to be nervous about. Harry always feels butterflies when he’s around Louis. It’s not the same scary _oh man I might throw up_ butterflies he felt when they first met. It’s more like a happy little swarm that takes flight anytime Louis announces his arrival.

Harry gets it.

There’s an unspoken agreement between them that they’ll exchange gifts after they eat, so that means Harry is free to focus his attention entirely on Louis during dinner. Which really isn’t that different than usual. He’s always had an eye for beautiful things, and Louis is definitely the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

They eat off each other’s plates, stealing French fries from one another even though they’ve both got the same thing, and they tell each other silly jokes and sometimes they just stare at each other and Harry feels the most content he’s felt in a long, long time.

They have to heat the waffles in the microwave because they’ve gotten cold, but it just means that they can kiss lazily against the kitchen counter while they wait. This is maybe the best date Harry’s ever been on, because it’s exactly what he’s ever wanted: domestic and homey and comfortable and with Louis.

“Okay, presents,” Louis says excitedly once they’ve eaten and left the plates in the sink to deal with later. “I can’t believe you haven’t spoiled mine yet.”

“Heyy,” Harry says with a pout. “I’ve gotten better.”

“You have,” Louis says indulgently, reaching in for a kiss. “But I want it, so come on, where is it?”

“Hang on, hang on, I left it on the hall table.”

He comes back to find Louis waiting for him, presents on his lap, a glass of red wine in his hand. There’s a blanket thrown over the back of the couch behind him, and Harry can’t wait to cuddle up under it and tell Louis just how much he loves him, sappy words exchanged in the dark between them.

“Happy anniversary,” Harry says, passing the gift bag to Louis and taking his own glass of wine before arranging himself on the opposite end of the couch.

“Happy anniversary, baby. Here’s your present.”

“Which do I open first?” Harry asks, shaking the smaller one -- a DVD maybe? Too light to be a book. Maybe art supplies? -- and then the bigger one.

“The smaller one,” Louis suggests. “You’ll like it.”

It’s _Love Actually_ , Harry’s favorite movie. He left his copy at Louis’ house over the summer, and he’s been mourning it ever since. “Can we watch it tonight?” he asks, wide eyed, already anticipating quoting every line.

Louis nods. “That’s why I bought it, love.”

The other present is a typical Louis prank -- the rounded cylinder of a gift turns out to be an oatmeal container, and inside of that there’s a smaller wrapped box, which turns out to be a cardboard box with another wrapped box inside, and then finally, finally, he opens an envelope with concert tickets. They’re going to see Fleetwood Mac in April.

“Lou,” he says, dropping the tickets to his lap and looking at Louis in wonder. “This is amazing. Thank you. But I thought we weren’t going fancy.”

Louis flushes. “I know, I know. But I couldn’t help but spoil my boy, you know?”

Harry beams, and when he hands over Louis’ big present - tickets to see _The Lion King_ musical downtown in late February - he can’t help but say the exact same thing. The real fun comes when Louis opens his other present, a coupon book that Harry created, full of things he’s willing to do for Louis. Some of them are goofy and some of them are sexy -- okay, a lot of them are sexy, but who can blame him -- and some of them are just regular, everyday things.

“One coupon for a prank on Liam?” Louis reads in an amused tone.

“You can make me do whatever you want to him,” Harry explains, and then Louis laughs so hard that Harry has to kiss him, long and hard and deep, to get him to stop laughing.

It’s a real burden.

The evening passes in a haze of red wine and _Love Actually_ and low conversation, chocolate covered strawberries that Harry picked up at the specialty chocolate store and Louis, Louis, Louis. He’s watching the movie but he keeps turning his head to see Louis’ reactions. He’s got his head on his lap and his fingers combing through his hair and he’s three glasses of wine deep, soon to be a fourth if he gets his way, and he feels content, happy, sated.

“I love you,” Harry says as he sits up, snuggling into Louis’ side and adjusting the blanket over both of them. “My life would be so, so different without you.” Louis smiles, and the sight of it makes Harry’s chest warm. “You -- you make my bad days okay, you know that? I never want to be without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” Louis swears, and there’s a flash of panic in his eyes as he remembers the same thing Harry’s remembering -- that in a few days they’re leaving for Christmas break and will be separated for more than three weeks. But that’s a problem to worry about then, Harry resolves, because right now he’s got a boy who loves him right in front of him and he’s going to make the most of that.

“You make me so much happier, you know that?” Louis continues, and he brushes his hair out of his eyes before looking up at Harry again. “Like all this stuff with my future, and being stressed about it, and figuring out what to do... you make me feel like I can handle all of it.”

“You can,” Harry interjects. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Louis’ face breaks at that. “It’s only because of you.”

Harry can feel hot tears welling up in his eyes like pinpricks, and there’s a swell of emotion in his heart that he needs to get out. It feels a bit like when he got his tattoo, except for that was a desperate, needy, manic feeling, and this is equally desperate but more settled.

“It’s always been you, Lou. Ever since that first day you wandered into my dorm kitchen and told me to shut the fuck up, it’s always been you.”

The TV is still on, but Harry only has eyes and ears for Louis.

“You’re the only one who can talk me down when I’m freaking out, you’re the only one I trust when you say it’s all going to be okay. You’re home, Lou.”

“And you’re home for me,” Louis starts, and he takes Harry’s hands in his own. Harry can feel his hands shaking, can see tears marking a slow trail down Louis’ cheeks. Happy tears, though. The kind like when there’s too much feeling and it just needs to make its way out somehow.

“I never, ever thought I would find someone like you. But I did, and one day I was lucky enough to find out that you felt the same way about me, and my life has been a wild ride ever since.” Harry’s breath hitches in his chest, and his cheeks are salty with tears. “I love you so, so much. You make it all worth it, Harry.”

There’s so much more Harry wants to say but he can’t do anything but kiss Louis then, tossing the blanket aside as he maneuvers his way on top of him. He straddles Louis’ lap, knees planted in the couch on either side, and he angles his lips down to meet Louis’ in a bruising kiss. He’s got no idea how long they kiss for, but by the end of it both of them have lost their shirts and Harry has kissed his way down Louis’ torso and finds himself on his knees in front of him. His hands are just fumbling with Louis’ waistband, slipping his cold fingers in against Louis’ abs, when he stops him with a firm hand on his wrist.

When he speaks, his voice is rough and gravelly, his chest heaving. “I don’t think we should -- not here. Wouldn’t be right.”

Louis has never been one to shy away from semi-public sex, and if Harry remembers correctly they’ve had drunken sex on this couch more than once before, but Louis is right. It’s not fair to their roommates. Harry nods, and he pulls Louis up by the hand, leaving the mess in the living room behind, the DVD still playing on the television. It’s the Christmas pageant scene, one of Harry’s favorites, but it pales in comparison to showing Louis how much he loves him.

“I love you,” Louis mumbles against his lips when they stop to kiss on the stairs. “I can’t wait to marry you one day.”

Those eight words turn Harry on even more than any previous kissing, and he tugs Louis up the stairs to their room. “Bed, now, let’s go. Now.”

Louis laughs and follows and soon Harry finds himself spread out beneath Louis, naked and eyes hooded and little whines of “come on, Louis, please, _please,_ ” coming out of his mouth like a prayer.

Harry’s insides are molten lava, his blood is hot in his veins, his spine is tingling. He's writhing beneath Louis at the feeling of his fingers inside him, and he knows Louis is enjoying his begging and pleading.

“I’m ready, I swear it, come on,” he whines, and the wild beat of his heart doubles in speed as Louis slips his fingers out.

Harry's teasing and begging cuts off when Louis slides into him and he can see Louis start to smirk at that, but Louis tilts down his hips and the angle is just right and they both hiss a little instead.

Time falls away and Harry’s world is reduced to the feeling of Louis’ lips on his neck, Louis’ teeth catching across his nipple, Louis’ hand on his cock. There’s hushed whispers and pleas of ‘yes, right there, stay right there’ and adoring words shaped across each other's skin. His limbs feel weak and pleasure pools in his gut like a drug, the hot flash of bliss making its way up his spine.

When he was in high school, Harry had scoffed at the idea of making love. He’d never even had sex at that point, had never kissed a boy. He thought he’d never have that, the sharp twist of emotions and sex and being in love.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

Because this, here with Louis, the two of them chasing after a peak and trying to throw themselves off the edge -- this is making love.

“There, right there, that’s it,” Louis moans, hips jerking up as he gets his palm around Harry’s cock again and pulls off with quick strokes. “That’s it, right there, Harry, come on.”

“Feels so good,” Harry grits out between clenched teeth. He’s _so_ close, he can feel it just over the edge, like he needs to get to the top of the mountain before he can come down.

Louis hisses and Harry captures the sound with his mouth, and brushes his tongue against Louis’, and Louis shudders beneath him as he comes, hips undulating in a staccato rhythm that matches the beat of Harry’s heart.

“Right there, babe, you’re so beautiful,” Harry mumbles, words shaky as he chases after it himself.

“Come for me, baby,” Louis encourages, hand picking up its pace. “That’s it, _please_ , come for me.” He thrusts once, twice, three more times and then Harry comes with a shout, the white hot pressure in the bottom of his spine giving way to his favorite kind of pleasure.

“That’s it,” Louis says softly as Harry collapses on his chest, trying to ignore the way Louis’ stomach is splattered with come. “You’re so beautiful when you come.”

“You’re gorgeous all the time,” Harry offers with a scratchy throat.He matches his rapid breathing to Louis’, and they both lay there for a few minutes as they catch their breath.

“I love you,” Louis mumbles, exhaustion coating his voice, and Harry already knows that they’re leaving the mess to deal with in the morning.

“I love you too,” Harry says as he rolls off Louis’ body to avoid crushing him further. He drops his head to Louis’ chest and feels the beat of his racing heart begin to slow. “I don’t know how I’m going to top this for year four,” he comments idly, but that worry is overshadowed by the thought of _four years_ with Louis.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, love.”

“I guess I do.”

*

Harry cries when they say goodbye at the airport, and Louis does too, and neither of them bother to hide it.

“I’ll see you so soon,” Louis says, wiping the tears from Harry’s eyes with his thumbs. The departures area of Logan Airport has certainly seen its fair share of tears, but Harry still feels like the saddest person in the world, like the gravity of this pain is unique to them and no one else has ever experienced anything quite like it.

“Next time I kiss you you’ll be twenty four,” Harry comments, and Louis laughs a watery chuckle at that, probably because it’s exactly like kind of weird detail Harry _would_ focus on in a time like this.

“Not the very next,” Louis counters, drawing Harry in for a kiss that has entirely too much tongue considering Harry’s own mother is standing twenty feet away, letting them have their goodbye. When he pull away, he adjusts Harry’s new scarf around his neck, a gift from Zayn in this year’s roommate Secret Santa, and fixes the collar of his jacket. His hands linger on the back of Harry’s neck, warm and soft, and Harry hopes he never lets go.

“You better get going,” Harry comments as a woman with two small children pushes past them to get into the security line, but he tangles his fingers in Louis’ jumper against his hips and makes no move to let go.

“I’ll see you in less than four weeks, okay? Nearly three weeks. Not that long,” Louis tries, rubbing his palm up and down Harry’s upper arm, squeezing over his ship tattoo.

“Twenty four days,” Harry agrees, patting Louis’ hip. “And then we’ll be back together again.”

“I love you,” Louis says, and then Harry flings his arms around Louis’ waist and clings. Louis hugs back just as tight, and there’s hardly any air left in Harry’s lungs but he doesn’t care, because if this is how he’s gonna die, well, what a way to go.

It’s Louis who disentangles them in the end, it was always going to be Louis, because Harry would happily stay here all day. Surely there’s a later flight, right? But no, that’s not fair to Louis, who deserves to go home and see his family and be peppered with toddler kisses and smooshed at the bottom of a sibling cuddle. He just wishes he could be there too.

Louis leaves him with a bruising kiss and whispered adorations against his neck and then he’s gone. Harry can’t bear to watch him actually disappear through the line, so he makes a beeline for his mum and collapses into her arms.

“Oh love,” she says, rubbing his back. He’s taller than her now, but he always feels small and safe in her arms. “He’ll be back soon, he’s always gonna come back to you.”

She holds him and tells him he’s going to be okay, that his cousins are coming for Christmas and can’t wait to see him, but it doesn’t really help. Harry feels like he’s being a bit dramatic, it’s not like Louis is going off to war, but he nods into his mum’s shoulder anyway, tears staining her sweater.

“You want to stop for Italian food on the way home?” she asks, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder and leading them out to the carpark.

 _Louis loves Italian food_ , Harry thinks, and then he says, “Yeah, okay,” a bit mournfully. He already misses him so much, the pain sharp in his chest. It shouldn’t be like this, they’ve already done this so many times, but isn’t that the problem? They shouldn’t have to. This sucks.

His heart settles a bit when he gets a text from Louis ( **_through security, i think there’s a celebrity on my flight?? Not sure. Love u SOOO much, only 24 days til i’m back xxxx_ ** ) and he wants to cry but he forces himself to focus on his mum’s voice instead.

24 days.

They can do this.


	3. Winter Break

Harry totally can’t do this.

It’s been five days and the first three had been perfectly fine once he’d gotten over his initial moping; it’s nice to have his mum spoil him and to be able to sleep in and to have the comforts of home at his fingertips. But on day four when he woke up to his cat licking his neck and thought it was Louis, that’s when he knew he was in trouble.

He lays in bed and watches the numbers on the digital clock tick over to 3:00. Three in the morning and he still can’t sleep. He checks the volume on his laptop for the fourth time in ten minutes, just making sure it’s turned up all the way. Yep, it still is. And once again, nothing from Louis.

They’ve tried to set up a time to Skype or call, but there’s a five hour time difference, and Louis is busy doing things with his family, and Harry’s woken up late every day, and each time it’s finally seemed like the right moment, there’s been another interruption.

He checks the volume on his phone again, just making sure he hasn’t missed anything. It’s a little pathetic, missing someone so much that he can’t sleep. It hasn’t even been that long, just a few days since they said goodbye, and all he wants is Louis’ arms around him while he drifts off to sleep. He never sleeps as well without Louis.

He must drift off for a little bit, because when he wakes to the sound of a text notification, the glowing red numbers read 3:47 am. It’s 8:47 in England, he calculates automatically, his brain used to figuring out the time difference any time he and Louis are apart.

He has two texts, and they’re both from Louis. His heart races at the sight of his name on the screen. _Pathetic_ , he thinks, but he can’t care that much when Louis is reaching out to him.

The first text is a photo of the Tomlinson siblings crowded around the breakfast table, pancakes piled high on their plates. They’re grinning happily, their faces squished together as they gather around Louis. They look perfect, Louis most of all. He’s shaved recently and he’s wearing _glasses_ , which is Harry’s downfall. _“We all miss you!”_ says the attached message.

 _“But I miss you the most. Love you,”_ says the second message from Louis, and Harry holds the phone close, already feeling better.

The next time he wakes, it’s 11 am, and he finally feels the world is spinning once again.  

*

“Hi, baby,” Louis says when he finally gets him on Skype a few days later. “How’s it going?”

“Hi,” Harry breathes, because there’s Louis looking beautiful as ever, wrapped in a green jumper that Anne sent him for Christmas last year. “Happy birthday!”

It’s been a week since they left each other at the airport, but it feels like a month. Snow covers the ground outside and Harry’s well and truly in the Christmas spirit, but he feels Louis’ absence like a ghost hovering over his shoulder. They’ve never actually spent a Christmas together, but somehow it still never feels quite as festive without him.

 _Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love,_ the outrageously handsome Patrick Dempsey said on an episode of _Grey’s Anatomy_ once. Harry knows that feeling all too well.

“Thanks love, it’s been a fun day. The only thing that would make it better would be if you were here.”

Behind him, Harry can see a Christmas movie playing on the television and two people sitting on the couch. He realizes with a start that he can identify the living room because he’s actually _been there_ now, hasn’t just seen it on a screen but has actually been inside that room, has watched movies with Louis’ siblings and played games on that floor and let Louis kiss him ‘til he was dizzy on that couch.

Wow, he really wishes he was with Louis right now.

“I miss you a little bit,” Harry says.

“I miss you _so_ much.”

“Yeah, I lied, I miss you so fucking much,” Harry admits, and Louis laughs and agrees, and then they’re both staring at each other on the screen, not really sure what to say.

Louis turns to a voice that Harry can’t make out, and then turns back to Harry and says, “Daisy told me to tell you not to swear.”

“Oops, sorry, Daisy,” Harry says, not sorry at all. He and Louis share a smile and then Louis says he’s gonna take the computer into his bedroom.

“You gonna cash in on that coupon?” Harry asks, voice low and teasing, thinking of the phone sex coupon from Louis’ anniversary gift.

“Yeah, maybe. If you’re lucky.” Louis says with a wink.

“No, no, we wanna talk to Harry, you can’t leave!” Daisy and Phoebe cry, running over from the couch to approach the computer screen. Louis looks like he’s about to stop them, but they’re so enthusiastic and so excited to see Harry that he just shakes his head and tells Louis that it’s okay.

“Are you girls gonna go to bed early for Santa tonight?” Harry asks, and they nod. Daisy gives him a look that says _we’re almost teenagers, we know about Santa_ but to her credit, doesn’t actually say it.

Eventually they get bored and Harry thinks they might be in the clear, but then Gemma appears and pushes Harry out of the way so that she can talk to Louis, asking him for advice on taking the GRE and telling him all about her crazy roommates at her new place in Chicago.

Harry pouts and says, “Come on, Gemma, it’s his birthday, he doesn’t want to spend the whole night talking to you,” but secretly he loves that the two of them get along so well. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t.

Eventually Louis gets pulled away for dinner, so there’s no Skype sex, but maybe that’s okay. Getting to wish his boy a happy birthday is almost enough.

*

_“I hate this,” Harry mutters to himself, trying to fit the key into the lock. It keeps getting stuck, and he’s been meaning to visit the maintenance office to get a new key cut, but he’s too fucking busy this semester to actually do it. He thought junior year was supposed to be fun, but so far it’s just resulted in sleepless nights and stress. With a considerable amount of force, the key finally goes in, and the handle twists, and then he’s home, back to the apartment where he can actually relax._

_It’s been an adjustment, the five of them living together, but he doesn’t feel like they’re in each other’s pockets any more than they were before. He actually feels like he sees them less; with Zayn and Liam in bedrooms on the first floor and he and Louis sharing a room next to Niall, it’s like they all have to fight to spend time together. But someone’s usually home, one of them cooking in the kitchen and someone else watching television. It feels like a proper family home, more than living in a dorm with Niall ever did. But right now, he hopes that none of them are here; he doesn’t want to deal with anyone. Except maybe--_

_“Louis,” he says, the word an exhale when he sees him sitting in the armchair by the television. He’s reading a textbook, knees pulled up to his chest. “Hi.”_

_“Hey, Hazza,” he says happily, closing the textbook and tossing it on the couch. “What a nice surprise. Thought you didn’t usually come home ‘til after your second class.”_

_“Yeah, usually,” Harry says, kicking off his shoes and making his way across the living room to Louis. The floorboards squeak with each step he takes -- it’s one of the most annoying parts about living in this place, having to learn to walk with lighter steps. (His mum would be proud; she always told him to stop clomping around their house as a kid.) Louis opens his legs and lets Harry climb onto his lap and squeeze into the armchair with him. It’s not comfortable, but it means they can be close, and right now that’s all Harry wants._

_“Are you alright, baby?” Louis asks after Harry curls into his side. Louis pushes back his fringe with the press of light fingers, and then Harry shakes his head. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Just had a bad class,” Harry mumbles._

_“You want to talk about it?”_

_Louis’ voice is soft, like being wrapped in a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer on a cold day. Harry could easily tell him about how he got a bad grade on a quiz, and then his project partner got mad at him for not doing all the reading, and then the professor had reminded them all they have an exam next week, but he doesn't really want to rehash all of that right now._

_“Not right now. Just... stressed about school stuff, basically. And I have my long lecture tonight, the boring one.”_

_“What can I do to make it better?”_

_Harry thinks for a minute, and then he realizes what the real issue is. “Nothing. I mean...I love you, you know? But right now I think the only thing that can make it better is a hug from my mum.”_

_Louis gives a little tut and then presses his lips to Harry’s temple as he squeezes him tight. “What would your mum do if she were here?”_

_“She’d bake my favorite cake,” Harry says immediately, the answer coming to him in an instant. “Her German apple cake. She always makes it for me when I’ve had a bad day.  Especially this time of year.”_

_“Apple cake, huh? Sounds nice.”_

_“It is,” Harry says, thinking of the way the cake tastes just out of the oven, piping hot and smelling so good. “But since you can’t do that, you can just cuddle me ‘til I have to go back to class.”_

_“Yeah,” Louis answers quietly. “I can definitely do that.”_

_They sit there like that for a long while, Harry matching his breath patterns to Louis’ to calm himself down. He’s just drifting into sleep when he catches sight of the time on the tv box and realizes that he really needs to leave if he’s going to make it to his next class in time._

_“Lou, I gotta go,” he says, scrambling off his lap. “But thanks. I do feel better.”_

_“I’m glad. I love you, okay?”_

_“I love you too,” Harry says, kissing him quickly. He puts on his shoes in a rush, and he’s just opening the door when Louis calls out to him._

_“Hey, Haz, you want to do dinner tonight?”_

_“Yeah, that sounds good.”_

_It’s a small eternity before class ends, an eternity that consists of taking notes in a stuffy room, trying to ignore the sneezing girl next to him, and thinking about Louis whenever he gets bored. He tends to do that a lot, but after two years, he’s accepted that it’s part of his reality._

_The sky outside is dark when the professor finally lets them free, a blessed twenty minutes earlier than usual, and his stomach is rumbling. He wonders what Louis is thinking they’ll do for dinner; at this rate, he’ll take anything. Pasta, Chinese food, even that frozen pizza they bought for an emergency._

_He walks home with Scott, a kid in his class who lives in the townhouse a few rows down from his. He’s nice, but Harry’s mind is anywhere but their conversation. He almost feels a bit bad about it, and then he remembers how hungry he is._

_“I’ll see you next week, Harry,” Scott says when they get to Harry’s apartment. “Let me know if you ever want to like, study together or something. I’m usually free after class.”_

_“Uh... yeah, okay. I’ll let you know,” Harry sas with a wave. Miraculously, he manages to get into his apartment door with little trouble, and he finds himself in a much better mood than he did a few hours ago._

_“Lou? You here?” he calls when he kicks his shoes off in the hallway and tucks them against the wall._

_“In here,” Louis says from the kitchen. “I didn’t think you’d be so early.”_

_“Is that okay?” Harry asks, calling back in a teasing voice. There’s no answer, only the low hum of voices. Maybe Liam’s cooking with Louis tonight, which is sure to be a disaster, but usually a fun one. “The professor let us out early, thank fucking God, he’s such an ass--”_

_He cuts himself off when he crosses into the kitchen and sees Louis standing at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms as he stirs something in a mixing bowl.._

_“What are you doing, Lou? You making us dinner?” he asks, sidling up to Louis and fitting himself up against him. His lips are just ghosting Louis’ cheek when he hears a small cough and looks up to see his mum on Louis’ phone screen, propped up against a bag of flour._  
  
_“Hi, darling,” his mum says. Harry does a double take; yes, it’s really her, Louis is really Facetiming with his mum._

_“Mum, hi! How are you?” Harry asks, because he’s very confused but there’s his mum, right there on the screen, the only other thing he’s wanted all day._

_“I’m good, love. I miss you.”_

_“I miss you too,” he says, and Louis slips out from between Harry and the counter and goes to get something out of the fridge. Harry picks up the phone so that he can get a better look at his mum’s face. “Wait, what are you two doing? Why are you Facetiming Louis? Lou, babe, are you_ baking _?”_

_The kitchen smells like spices and apples, and he’s asked three questions in thirty seconds and still has no clue what the hell is going on. Lou’s pouring a glass of milk and Harry wants to smack the smirk off his face. Maybe kiss it. That’ll do._

_His mum smiles wickedly, like she's got a secret that she can’t hold in much longer. “Louis, darling, do you want to tell him?”_

_“I,” Louis says grandly, “am making your mum’s famous German apple cake.”_

_“And doing a very good job of it, from what I can tell on this end,” Anne adds, and she looks so proud, almost like Louis is her own son._

_He will be one day, if Harry gets his way._

_“Are you -- you're serious.”_

_“Yeah, baby, I am.” Louis is beaming at Harry, so fucking proud of himself for pulling this off, and wow, Harry has no clue what he did to deserve Louis Tomlinson in his life._

_“God, I love you so fuc-- I mean, so freaking much,” he says, pulling Louis in by the belt loops of his jeans so that he can kiss him. Louis comes easily, eyes already half closed._

_“Harry, I'm still on the line. At least let me go before you attack him,” his mum interrupts._

_Oh, right._

_He gives Louis a chaste kiss and then pulls away so that he can hold up the phone to look at his mum again. At least he has the decency to feel a bit embarrassed about it, his cheeks flushed red. Or maybe that's just from Louis._

_“Anyway, can you put me back on with Lou? He’s almost done. This is a very lovely thing he’s doing for you, you know. Very sweet of him.”_

_“I know,” he tells her, his eyes locked on Louis’. “He’s a very lovely person. Don't know what I did to get so lucky, if I'm honest. Not sure why he puts up with me.”_

_“It’s the sex,” Louis mouths to Harry as he takes the phone away from him. Harry smacks him on the shoulder and then hoists himself up on the kitchen counter. It's already Louis’ favorite spot to sit while Harry’s cooking, and he wants to see what all the fuss is about. Harry’s quite a bit taller, so it's not as comfortable as he imagines it being for Louis, but it's still entrancing to watch him move around the kitchen._

_“Okay, so if your dough is ready, I want you to pour half of it into the tin,” Anne tells him, voice tinny through the phone but still so, so familiar and comforting._

_“Just fill it halfway?” There’s a hesitant expression on Louis’ face as he lifts the mixing bowl. Harry watches him as he pours it perfectly, pulling back when the cake tin is halfway filled. Harry notices that he’s got flour in his hair and a spot of sugar on his chin._

_“See, you're better than you give yourself credit for.”_

_“He’s had a good teacher,” Harry tells his mum happily. It had taken more than a year for Louis to finally ask Harry to show him how to bake, and after a few months of lessons, Louis is getting pretty handy._

_“Okay, so all those apples you cut earlier, you’ll want to lay them on top of the dough, and then put the rest of the dough on top of that.”_

_Louis has put about half the apples in the tin when Harry stops him with a hand on his wrist._

_“Not all of them. That’s enough.”_

_“Stop, no,” Louis orders as he shrugs Harry’s hand away. “You’re not allowed to help. I’m gonna make it for you by myself.”_

_Harry pulls back and as Anne tells Louis what to do next, he takes advantage of an unexpected moment to engage in his second favorite pastime: admiring Louis. Second only to kissing Louis, of course, which he hopes to do the second his mum gets off the phone._

_He’s so busy thinking about his two favorite things to do that he almost misses Louis slipping the cake tin into the oven and saying goodbye to his mum until Louis physically hands him the phone._

_“You take care of that boy, you hear me?” she tells Harry. “He’s a good one.”_

_“I know,” Harry says very seriously, trailing his foot up Louis’ leg where he stands at the sink, washing the dishes. “Thanks for helping him.”_

_“Anytime, Harry. I love you.”_

_“Love you too, Mum. Thanks again.”_

_The second she’s gone he tosses the phone onto the counter and slips to the ground, reaching for Louis. “I love you. I -- thank you so much, Lou. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, I mean it.”_

_“It was no big deal,” Louis protests, but then Harry cuts off the remaining words with his mouth to show him that yeah, he thinks it’s a pretty big fucking deal._

_“I love you, I love you so much. I can’t believe -- you’re incredible, you know that? Absolutely incredible.” He winds his arms around Louis’ waist and holds loosely so that he can look him in the eye. “Just...the very, very best. Thank you.”_

_“Let’s hope you’re still saying that when you taste it,” Louis points out, pressing a kiss to Harry’s collarbone. “No guarantees it’ll taste like your mum’s.”_

_Two hours later, after they’ve eaten dinner and Harry has blown Louis in the shower to express his unyielding gratitude, Harry eats a piece of the cake and then immediately goes back for a second. He smiles at Louis around a forkful. “Don’t tell my mum, but yours might be better.”_

_Louis beams, and Harry thinks that they just might make each other happy for the rest of their days._

*

Niall comes to visit for New Year’s, which is good timing: Gemma had gone back to Chicago a few days after Christmas, and things are boring at home without anyone to entertain Harry. He can only go for coffee with his mum so many times, and staring at his spinning ceiling fan got old after about five minutes.

“So how’s Louis?” Niall asks as he peels off his snow boots and leaves them on the floor of the mudroom, immediately making a beeline for the hot chocolate Anne’s left out for their post-snow fight beverage. Harry’s a bit confused by the question, because he knows that Niall and Louis have talked over break.

“He’s good, why?” Harry asks, suspicion lacing his tone. “Didn’t you talk to him the other day?”

“Yeah, we’ve texted,” Niall says, wandering into the living room. “But, like, what’s the deal with the two of you? When are you going to make it official?”

“We _are_ official, Niall. If you haven't noticed, we’ve been dating for three years.”

“Married official.”

Oh. _So_ that’s _where this conversation is going,_ Harry thinks as they settle on the couch in front of a sports game that Robin left on TV. “Well, I suppose you’d have to ask Louis about that, wouldn’t you.”

“Everyone’s expecting the two of you to get engaged any day now,” Niall says.

“I don’t think that’s going to be happening any time soon,” Harry confides. “Louis has some life things he need to figure out first. But whenever he’s ready, I’m here and willing to say yes.”

“Good,” Niall says, and then refuses to say any more about it, despite Harry’s prodding.

In spite of the weird mention of engagements and rings, having him there is the best. It’s a little like old times, the two of them sleeping in the same room and talking until the other falls asleep. He still misses Louis, but the ache of it has gone away a little bit with the distractions of Christmas and family and Niall.

They go to a New Year’s Eve party thrown by one of Harry’s friends from high school, and they kiss each other’s cheeks and send a selfie to Louis with the caption “wish you were here!” After that, they proceed to get very, very drunk.

They spend the last few days of Niall’s visit in a state of casual laziness, perfectly happy to sleep until noon and take full advantage of Anne’s home cooking, especially once they realize that this is their last multi-week break before they join the dreaded Real World.

At the end of it, Harry tells Niall how thankful he is for him and how glad is he came to visit. It’s been a long time since they spent any extended one-on-one time together, and he needs Louis but he needs Niall too, and he can’t forget it.

“See you in a week,” Niall says when he hugs Harry goodbye before catching a bus back to Boston.

“Love you,” Harry says, and he still thinks he lucked out in the roommate lottery all those years ago.

*

They’re wearing matching beanies. That’s the first thing Harry notices. The second is the brilliant smile on Louis’ face when he sees Harry’s sign, its message more appropriate than ever after the day’s events. The third is how he breaks into an adorable little run once he’s gotten close enough, forcibly parting the crowd to get to Harry.

Harry drops the sign to the ground and throws his arms around Louis’ waist, squeezing tight.

“Hi,” he says into Louis’ ear, and Louis says _hi_ back and then they’re kissing, tasting each other like they’ve found a pool of water in the desert. God, that’s such a cliche, but there’s a thousand cliches about love and all of them apply to the way he feels about Louis.

Louis winds a leg around his hip and Harry reaches down to grab at his ass and then Louis’ legs are around Harry’s waist and Louis, Louis, Louis is right here in his arms. He groans when Louis yanks off the beanie and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling at his curls and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“I missed you so much,” Louis says against his lips, and Harry echoes the sentiment and feels his heart thrumming a wild beat in his chest because _Louis_.

“Welcome home,” Harry greets once he’s set Louis back on the ground. Both of them resolutely ignore the disapproving glances thrown their way -- yes, the greeting was probably a little inappropriate, but he really, really doesn’t care. Not when it’s been twenty four days of half his heart across the Atlantic.

“I feel like you missed me,” Louis says, pointing to the sign that’s on the ground, letters scrawled in every color of the rainbow.

_TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH._

“It’s true,” Harry says with a shrug, “and even more true now after those delays. How was the airport lounge?”

“Fancy as fuck, and the beds were so comfy. Wish you’d been there with me. Except, you made your intentions very clear on that phone call,” he says with a grin, and Harry blushes at the memory of waking up this morning and finding out that Louis’ flight was delayed, that he’d been upgraded to the British Airways lounge, that he’d told him he couldn’t wait to mark him up and have his way with him when he got home.

Still true.

“God, you’re even more tan than you look in the photos,” Harry says, nuzzling at Louis’ neck. “You look so, so good.”

“So do you. Except you’re not tan at all,” Louis says cheekily, and Harry lets out a squawky laugh that he can’t control. “Greece was fun, but let’s never be separated again.”

“My little world traveling boyfriend. First in England for Christmas, and then on holiday in Greece. How come I never get to go on these trips?” Harry asks with a pretend pout, pressing a smacking kiss to Louis’ temple and taking one of his two suitcases from him.

“I invited you!” Louis protests. “You said you couldn’t skip your family Christmas.”

“I couldn’t,” Harry says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pay the parking ticket. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

“Are you gonna show me just how much you missed me?” Louis asks, molding himself to Harry’s back and hooking his chin on his shoulder as Harry punches in his pin number.

“We’ll see,” Harry says, voice teasing. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Very,” Louis says as they head for the car park. “Very, very tired. But I’ve missed you very much a lot, and it’s been a long time.”

“Mm, it has,” Harry agrees in a low tone, fingers interlaced with Louis’ as they walk out to the parking lot. “Might be a bit of a drive though. Maybe you can nap on the way.”

“A bit of a drive,” Louis repeats. “Back to school?”

The sun is just beginning to set, late winter sunlight catching in Louis’ hair as they approach Niall’s car, loaned to him for their adventure. He opens the trunk and they heave Louis’ heavy suitcases in, dropping them next to a bright blue duffle bag that belongs to Harry.

“We aren’t going back to school just yet,” Harry says as he opens the side door for Louis, and the confusion on Louis’ face as he gets in the car is totally worth how hard he’s had to fight to keep this secret from him. “How do you feel about a little road trip north?” He asks as he slides into the driver’s seat. Louis stares at him, face slack with disbelief.

“What?”

“I’ve got the keys to my parents’ cabin in Maine. Just you and me, snow on the ground, a roaring fire, a hot tub, a few bottles of wine. Clothing optional. What do you say?” He’s grinning now, almost laughing, because the disbelief on Louis’s face is so, so good.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Absolutely not. You up for it?” Harry asks, already leaning across the center console to capture Louis’ lips with his own.

“Wait, wait,” Louis says, a light hand on Harry’s chest stopping him just before they make contact. “Is this the birthday and Christmas surprise? Shit, I thought it was going to be like, dinner in the North End or something. But wow, you’ve really gone all out. Fuck yes, I’m in!”

“You don’t care about getting back to school?”

“We have four more days til the semester starts, I’m all set. Wait -- what about my clothes, it’s gonna be cold up there, I’ve barely got anything, all my stuff is from Greece.”

“I took care of it all,” Harry says, barely an exhale across Louis’ lips, and then they’re kissing.

“What did I ever do to get you?” Louis asks, voice raspy, and there’s tears welling up in his eyes. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Stop it or you’re gonna make _me_ cry,” Harry says, but he already feels a little weepy. He’s back with Louis, he’s home, and he’s more content than he’s felt in weeks.

“You’re already crying, baby,” Louis points out, and Harry laughs, low and watery. “Thank you so much, this really is above and beyond.”

“Not every day my boy turns twenty four,” Harry explains, wiping at his eyes  before pulling out of the parking lot and heading north.

*

It’s dark when they get to Maine, and there’s a snowdrift blocking the front door. Harry can’t help but laugh, because this is exactly the scenario his mum warned him about. He’d chosen to ignore it, thinking she was worrying for no reason. Turns out, as per usual, she was right.

“Baby, please, come on, let me help you,” Louis calls from the car, and Harry shakes his head.

“Nope, this is your gift. Means you don’t do any of the work.”

“Come on, it’ll be so much quicker with two.”

“Shut the window and stay there,” Harry orders. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m just gonna eat the two remaining French fries now then,” Louis says, and Harry looks over to see him pulling them out of the McDonald’s bag. “Don’t think we’ll be inside for a while.”

Harry’s fingers are freezing, his gloves buried in his bag in the trunk of the car, but he keeps on shoveling anyway. He probably should have asked Louis to help, but he can’t turn back on his promise now. Damn him for being so chivalrous and damn his mother for making him like this.

It takes nearly twenty minutes, but finally he carves a path on the porch for them to get inside. He’s shivering wildly as he unlocks the front door with a shaky hand, flicks on the light, and runs back out to get Louis.

“All set,” he says, teeth chattering as he opens the passenger door. “Come on, let’s go.”

Louis gets out of the car and leans in to kiss Harry, pulling back as soon as his lips make contact. “God, you’re freezing, Harry! Come on, let’s get inside before you get sick.”

Harry’s too cold to waste energy on silly things like words, so he takes one of the suitcases and his own bag out of the trunk, leaving Louis to get the other one and shut the car door. He moves as quickly as he can while burdened with luggage, and the second Louis gets inside the house Harry slams the door and locks it.

“Welcome home,” Harry says, stretching his arms out in the middle of the living room. It’s an open floor plan, a living room with a fireplace leading into a breakfast nook and the kitchen just beyond. Harry hasn’t been here in ages, and he’s suddenly really excited to make new memories here with Louis.

“It’s beautiful, Harry,” Louis says, dropping his backpack next to the suitcases. “Really, really lovely.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “Want me to give you the grand tour?”

“How about,” Louis starts, voice low as he takes slow steps toward Harry, “you show me where the bedroom is, and we can figure out the rest later?”

“I can work with that,” Harry says, blinking slowly as Louis slots one thigh in between Harry’s parted legs. “It’s just -- up the stairs and around the corner.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, eyes hooded. “You gonna show me, or do I have to find out myself?”

“I’ll-- I can show you,” Harry nearly chokes. It’s been weeks without Louis; he’s hardly in any position to be teased like this.

*

“How are you two getting on up there?” Niall asks, and Harry can picture the scenario so well: Niall’s playing FIFA, the phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder and something being chewed directly into the speaker. Chips, maybe.

“We’re good,” Harry says, smiling at the faint sounds of Louis singing in the shower, the sound muffled under the running water. “We’re really good.”

“Are you two engaged yet? Been up there two days already.”

“Would you stop asking me that, we’ll get engaged when the time is right. And that’s not now.”

“I’m just saying,” Niall continues, and there’s a sharp crunching sound from his end -- definitely chips, then -- “that you don’t want to let him get away.”

“I’m not going to let him get away, Niall. He’s it for me, I’m it for him, and we both know it.” The certainty of that statement settles in his blood and calms his heart, warming him from the inside out. It’s one thing that they’ve talked about being together forever, but to actually think about the day that they make those promises -- well, it makes him want to grab Louis’ hand and ride off into the sunset right now.

“Alright, well, I just want to make sure I’m in the wedding.”

“Yeah, yeah, you will be. We’ll figure it out. Can you stop asking me this though? You’re making it hard to concentrate on the now.”

“Concentrate on the -- what the fuck does that mean, dude? Oh god, is Louis there? Are you doing weird sex things again? Cause I don’t want a repeat of that last time, remember when I walked in on--”

“Yes, Niall,” Harry interrupts, “I remember it very well; I don’t need a play by play.”

“You know, the three of us have put up with a whole load of shit being your roommates,” Niall adds, and Harry’s heart sinks.

“Niall, we’ve never meant to--”

“No, no, I’m only joking. Well, like, we have, not joking about that bit, but it’s okay. It’s for the good of true love, and all that.”

Harry hears the bathroom door open behind him, and he turns. Out steps Louis, a towel slung low around his hips and his chest dappled in stray water droplets. Harry can’t help but give him a once over from top to bottom, and then he blushes when Louis catches him staring. On the phone, Niall is rambling about something their neighbors across the road did, some party they’re throwing tonight in honor of the last semester of senior year.

Louis unties the towel, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud, and he sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Harry. Harry feels like the temperature in the room has been turned up ten degrees, suddenly feels his throat go dry and finds he can’t tear his eyes away from wet, naked Louis standing six feet away.

“Niall? “I g-gotta go.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he ends the call, throwing the phone onto his bed and crossing the room to get to Louis.

“Lou,” he says, surprised by the huskiness of his own voice. “Louis.”

Louis turns to him, and Harry drops to his knees.

*

There’s a cough behind him, and Harry turns from his spot at the stove to see Louis, wearing only boxers and scratching lazily at his stomach as he adjusts to the light.

“Morning,” he rasps, and the soft, sleepy look on his face makes Harry want to drop the pancakes he’s making and drag Louis back to bed.

“Morning, babe.”

“What’re you doin’?” Louis asks, padding over to stand behind Harry, wrapping warm arms around his waist. Harry leans over and tilts his head against Louis’, closing his eyes and breathing him in.

“Making you breakfast in bed, but you got up and ruined it,” he complains, but honestly, he doesn’t care that the surprise has been spoiled. He’d had to fight to leave Louis in bed, not wanting to leave his side after so many weeks away.

“Sorry,” Louis says, in a tone that suggests he’s not sorry at at all. “Is there tea?”

“Should be some in the cupboard up there. These will be done in, like, five minutes. There’s fruit in the fridge if you’re hungry now though.”

Louis shakes his head as he pulls away and stands up on tiptoes to fetch the box of tea from the cupboard. The cupboard doesn’t hold much; his family’s generally too busy to come up here that often anymore so the food stock is low. His mum and Robin have talked about selling it a few times lately, but he hopes that never happens.

There’s too many memories in this house for Harry to ever imagine it belonging to another family; he’s been coming here since his mum married Robin when he was twelve years old. Sliding on pillows down the staircase with Gemma, chasing each other around the first floor, telling scary stories around the campfire outside. It’s all been part of his growing up, and he's happy he can make memories with Louis here now.

“You need help getting that down?” Harry teases, and Louis smacks him on the shoulder.

“I am perfectly fine, thanks.”

“Alright, okay, whatever you say. Just didn’t know if you were a bit short for it.”

“Fuck you,” Louis teases, leaning in for a quick kiss and laughing as he pulls away. Harry pouts, and Louis kisses him again. “Good morning, you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

Louis flicks on the kettle and then hoists himself onto the counter, legs kicking at the cupboard door below. Harry can feel his eyes on him, watching as he flips pancakes onto a plate, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted. Not yet.

“So what’s the plan for the weekend?” Louis asks. “You know, since you planned this big birthday surprise for me.”

“Anything you want,” Harry says. “Anything at all.”

“Have I told you that I love you?”

“Not today,” Harry answers, turning off the griddle and thinking of last night, Louis sobbing the words against his shoulder as he came, repeating them like a mantra, etching them into his skin.

“Well, I do. Love you, I mean. Even if you’re ridiculous.”

“There is nothing ridiculous about this pink apron. It’s the only one I could find.”

“No, no. I love it. It suits you. Any chance you could bring it back to school?”

“Shut up and make your tea, Louis.”

Louis slips off the counter and launches into an eager list of suggestions while Harry takes the fruit salad out of the fridge. “Can we go walk around the lake? Maybe we can wear our matching beanies. We should send a selfie to Liam, he bought them as a joke but little did he know we’d both love them and -- oh, can we go in the hut tub? Can we go shopping downtown? Can we go to that good pizza place you mentioned? Ooh, can we have sex on the balcony outside?”

Harry laughs. “Might be a little cold for that last one, babe.”

“But we can _try,_ right?” Louis insists, following him to the counter where Harry’s set the plates for pancakes. Privately, Harry’s thrilled Louis is so excited for them to be here. A break will do them both good -- time alone together is healthy, and a weekend away with his very best friend is the perfect cure for any ailment he can think of.

“Yeah, we can try.”

“Thanks, baby. Ooh, can we have sex in front of the fire?”

“Louis, shut up and eat your pancakes.”

*

Maine suits Louis.

That’s what Harry thinks, sitting in a hot tub and admiring him. He’s cradling a wine glass in one hand and using the other to make ridiculous gestures as he talks about something one of his sisters did in Greece, and he’s so animated that it makes Harry’s heart twist with how much he loves him.

“I love you,” Harry cuts in, and there’s a split second where Louis looks shocked and then in the next moment, he sets his wine glass on the lip of the hot tub. Harry watches as he crosses the space of the tub to get to him, the reflection of his tattoos rippling in the water by the light of the moon. He’s the most beautiful person Harry has ever known, and he can’t believe he gets to _keep_ him.

“Thanks for all this,” Louis says as he cuddles up to Harry’s side and presses a line of kisses along his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me on vacation and taking me to that cool pizza place and even for showing me around that art gallery you love.”

“You hated the art gallery.” Louis had indulged him spending way too long looking at a particular photograph of the ocean, one that he definitely would have purchased if not for the price tag upwards of three grand. He’d spent so long staring at it that Louis had taken a photo of Harry from behind and uploaded it to Instagram in black and white, Harry’s flannel shirt contrasting against the smooth surface of the photograph, the caption just _Back with my boy_.

“Yeah, but you loved it, so.” Louis shrugs one shoulder, and Harry once again just can’t believe that Louis picked him. Certainly the wine is to be blamed for at least a quarter of these feelings, but the rest is just Louis. _Louis, Louis, Louis_ , his loud, lovable boyfriend.

“You seem happy.”

“I am,” Louis says, and Harry twists his head to look at his face. There’s a bright smile there, and Harry feels glad he was able to help put it there. “It’s been a good day.”

“It has,” Harry agrees, and then he pulls Louis closer.

*

“Do we have to go back tomorrow?”

Harry presses the words against Louis’ bare shoulder, and Louis shifts in the space between his open legs, leaning into the contact. His back is warm against Harry’s naked chest, warmed by the heat of the fire.

“We could drop out, make a run for it. Live in the woods, become mountain men. You could kill a bear for us to eat.”

“A bear?”

“A bear. Would be enough food for the whole spring, if you cooked it right.”

“I hardly think I have a chance against a bear.”

“You would. You’re strong. My big, strong boyfriend.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s inner bicep and giggles against it, hot breaths ghosting across Harry’s skin.

“That’s me. Hey, only six weeks until my race with Liam.”

Louis giggles again. “I still can’t believe you’re going to run a half marathon.”

“Hey!”

“No, no, I’m very proud. You were very cute this morning, running laps around the lake, your hat flopping into your eyes.”

“You saw me?” Harry’s surprised; he’d come back from his run to find Louis asleep in bed, no sign he’d woken up earlier.

“Watched from the window,” Louis confirms. “I woke up and you weren’t there, and I had to pee. Then I saw you outside. Was very cute.”

“You’re a creep.”

“Yeah, but I’m your creep.”

“As if that makes a difference,” Harry scoffs.

“I don’t want to go back either,” Louis admits mournfully, not joking anymore, and then kisses his shoulder again. “Feels too much like the beginning of the end.”

Harry makes a little hum of agreement and stares into the fire, the crackling and popping of the flames the only sound in the room. He pulls Louis close and he thinks, _if the entire world outside this room disappeared right now, I think I’d be alright_.

“Are we gonna be okay, do you think?” he asks quietly. “Like, next year. With all the changes coming.”

“What, you and me?” Louis asks, craning his neck to look at Harry. “Yeah, of course. We can figure it out. Us against the world, right?”

Harry nods once, sharp and definitive. “It’s always gonna be me and you.”

“I can’t wait,” Louis says. “Like, I’m fucking terrified that we have no idea what’s coming, but… it’s nice to know it’s gonna be me and you no matter what, even if we have to fight for it.”

Harry’s turning the statement over in his brain when Louis releases himself from his hold. Harry’s about to protest, but he’s too distracted by the boxers clinging to the curve of Louis’ bum, and next thing he knows Louis has settled in front of him, legs crossed, a bottle of red wine in his hand. He twists off the top and passes it to Harry.

“No glasses?” Harry asks with a raised eyebrow, already bringing the bottle to his lips.

“Nah, what’s the point?” Louis says. “We’re only gonna be this young once, we might as well be irresponsible while we can.”

Harry laughs and passes the bottle back to Louis, who takes a swig. They go back and forth like this for a little bit, staring at each other and drinking wine, until Louis starts to get that tipsy, glazed-over look in his eyes. He closes the distance between them on his hands and knees and Harry is struck with a thought: he’s never going to be sick of this boy. Never, ever ever.

“Hazza,” Louis mumbles, voice raspy. “I gotta tell you something. ‘S important. Reaaaal important.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, heart racing just a little faster. Louis is at his side now, holding onto his arm with both hands. He gestures for Harry to bend his head so he can speak into his ear.

“I love you,” Louis says, voice clear as a bell. “I love you and your dumb face so much.”

Harry laughs, and the sound fills the room, reaching up to the high ceiling. “Me too, babe. Me too.”

Louis straddles his lap and throws his arms around Harry’s neck. “Like, so, so much.”

“Yeah?” Harry slurs, a challenge in his tone. “You gonna show me?”

They’ve already had sex three -- maybe four? He’s lost count -- times today, but there is literally no circumstance in which Harry turns down a nearly naked Louis Tomlinson, especially one that’s tipsy and professing his love.

“If you’re lucky,” Louis says, grinding down against him, white spots appearing behind Harry’s eyelids, drifting shut of their own will. “What do you want?”

“You--” Harry says immediately, and then he’s cut off by the feeling of Louis’ teeth scraping over a nipple. It feels so, so good. “I want you -- _ah_ \--  inside me. Can we--?”

“Yes, yes, _please_ ,” Louis says in a rush, scrambling off him and leaving Harry suddenly cold as Louis stands to his feet. “I’m just gonna go get the lube, okay? Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” Harry says, and then drapes a blanket over the soft rug for extra padding, slips off his boxers, and then settles himself in front of the fire to wait.

Louis stops short when he comes back into the room, words dying in his throat when his eyes land on Harry. “Wha-- _Harry_.”

Harry smirks and circles his cock with his palm again, stroking it once, twice, three times. The motion is lazy, no force behind it, but there's nothing like the way Louis’ mouth drops open and his eyes turn hooded.

Louis crosses the room in quick strides and falls to his knees, slapping Harry’s hand away. “Stop it, that’s mine.”

Harry complies immediately, hand dropping to the rug, and Louis smiles, bright and true. “Good boy.”

He feels hot under Louis’ gaze, and Louis’ hand on his chest pushes him backward until his back hits the ground. He can’t tear his eyes away from Louis, watching with a hitched breath as he opens the lube with a soft click and covers his fingers with it.

“How do you want it?” Louis asks, crawling over him, grazing the tip of Harry’s cock with his palm as he goes.

“I want,” Harry starts, hips bucking up to chase after the friction. His brain feels empty, like he knows what he wants but can't find the words. “I want you-- I want you to--”

“You want it slow?” Louis interrupts, running a hand across Harry’s chest, his face just inches from Harry’s. All Harry can see is blue eyes and an eager smile, his whole world reduced to Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. His other hand is in Harry’s hair, tugging on his curls. “Want me to take my time? Want me to open you up slowly, want me to make you beg for it?”

Harry groans and grips at Louis’ back, two fingers of his other hand reaching out to pinch at a nipple.

Louis squirms on top of him, pulling a sticky hand out of Harry’s hair to swat his fingers away. “Stop that.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking up at Louis through hooded eyes. “Slow, please, Lou--Louis.”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis says, one hand reaching down between their bodies to stroke his cock. Harry shudders into it. “You like that? God, you’re always so responsive. Always let me know how it feels. Want me to mess you up? Want me to have you begging for it, want to be so turned on you’re crying with it?”

“Yeah, yes, please, Lou, _please_ , that’s what I want,” Harry pleads, the words coming out in a jumbled rush. Louis’ hand ghosts over the head of Harry’s cock again and Harry groans. “Your pants,” he gets out. “Take off your pants.”

Louis nods and together they get his boxers off, flinging them into a corner of the room. Harry has about five seconds to admire the way Louis’ cock slaps against his stomach with the motion before he’s crawling back on top of Harry.

“You ready for my fingers?” Louis asks, and Harry nods his head against him, pressing kisses to his shoulder as Louis circles his rim with a fingertip. “You sure this is what you want? You don’t want it hard and fast?”

“Lou, come the fuck on, I’ve been ready for _ages_.”

“Okay, okay, no need to beg,” Louis says, as if that’s not exactly what he wants, and then, slowly, _slowly_ slides a finger in. The moan that Harry lets out is positively obscene. “Yeah, baby, let me hear you. Good boy.”

“Lou, please, two fingers. _Please_.”

“Not yet. You said you wanted it slow, yeah? Come on, be patient, you're so good for me.”

“Lou--” Harry starts, lifting his head to catch Louis’ lips. His fingers are tracing patterns on Louis’ skin, trailing from chest to side to hip. One finger is good, but it’s not _enough_ ; he needs more.

He clenches around Louis, tapping him insistently on the shoulder. “Come on, _please_.”

Louis responds by brushing his lips against Harry’s and sliding a second finger in. It's so much better, the stretch that little bit more, and when Louis’ scissors his fingers, curling them inside and finding his prostate with ease, Harry loses it.

He has no idea how long he spends riding Louis’ fingers, just knows that he’s a sweaty wreck by the time Louis sucks a bruise into the inner crease of Harry’s thigh and inserts a third finger. Harry lets out a moan so loud it’s probably scared away any animals outside.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chants, and then Louis pulls his fingers out. “What the fuck--why--” he starts to ask, clenching around nothing, and then he sees Louis rolling on a condom and, _oh, right_.

The slide in is painfully slow, Louis dragging his cock against his rim twice before pushing in, and even then Harry feels like Louis is counting to 100 before moving in an inch. He’s about six seconds away from flipping Louis over and riding him, they both like that, but no. It’s Louis’ birthday trip and this is Louis’ show.

They both groan when Louis finally, finally bottoms out, and Harry’s not in control of his mouth, will have no recollection of the litany of phrases he’s spouting at Louis, just knows that he’s being warmed by the heat off the fire and being warmed by Louis and warmed by the heat building inside his spine.

“Feel so good, baby,” Louis says against his temple, and Harry pulls at Louis’ hair, tugging hair away from his scalp. “Let me hear you, there’s no one around. Come on.”

Harry wraps one leg around Louis’ ass, trapping him close, but it only serves to make Louis reduce his thrusts to short, sharp bursts. Harry whines his name, and Louis just laughs, clearly enjoying the teasing.

“You always make me feel so good,” he says into Louis’ ear, knowing that if he can get Louis to fall apart, Louis will finally, finally let him come. “Never had anyone as good as you, never known anyone who makes me feel like you do.”

“Harry,” Louis answers, voice slow like syrup. “Love you. Feel so good.”

“Can’t wait to do this with you forever,” Harry says, wrapping his other leg around Louis’ ass. Talking about forever is surefire way to get Louis hot.

“Harry,” Louis groans again, eyes sliding shut as he increases the speed of his thrusts. He gets a hand wrapped around Harry’s cock and -- _god, finally_ , there’s the friction he’s been chasing -- and words fall away from him.

All he can focus on is Louis mouthing at his jaw, Louis’ perfect twisting movements on his cock, Louis thrusting hard and deep. He raises his hips for a change of angle and they both hiss, and that’s it.

“Right there, Lou, that’s it. You’re perfect.” He pushes Louis’ fringe away from his face and Louis kisses him in short bursts, shoulders shaking as he moans against Harry’s mouth.

Harry tenses, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the soft blanket beneath him, but it’s not enough. When he comes, it’s with Louis’ hand on his cock and his other hand pinching a nipple, with Louis’ mouth on his. The orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, an explosion, a firework. Pleasure spreads outwards, to the tips of his fingertips and his toes, and he gives into it, sees white spots behind his eyes and feels come spilling over Louis’ hand onto their stomachs.

His muscles can’t hold him up anymore, his legs fall away from Louis’ ass, and Louis thrusts four more times before he comes with a shout and the scrape of his teeth over Harry’s collarbone.

He wants to say something, wants to tell Louis how perfect he is, how good he always makes him feel, but his brain isn’t working beyond the pulse of _holy shit, wow, Louis_.

Louis seems to feel the same, pulling out of him slowly and tying off the condom, placing it gently on the fireplace. Harry’s muscles feel like jelly, but he manages to reach for Louis all the same.

“You’re a little sweaty,” Louis says after a few minutes, and Harry looks down to see his chest covered in goosebumps and sweat.

“Gross.”

“Actually, it’s kinda hot,” Louis says, curling up next to him, head on Harry’s shoulder, his body warm and pliant.

 _You’re kinda hot_ , Harry wants to say, that desire to make Louis laugh rearing its head again, but he’s literally too spent to expend energy on unnecessary words.

“Love you,” he mumbles against Louis’ temple, and he falls asleep with his boy in his arms and the fire roaring behind them.


	4. Senior Spring Part I

Life as a second semester senior isn’t exactly what Harry was expecting. That is to say, it’s basically the same as the semester before, except now he gets emails about a 100 Days Til The End Dance and applying for graduation and various people keep asking him what he plans to do next year. There’s an updated calendar in their kitchen for the new year and May 15th is circled in red pen, GRADUATION DAY written in bold letters that fill the whole box. By the third day, Harry’s trained his eyes to skip right over it so he doesn’t have to think about it.

Beyond that, though, not much has changed. He still wakes up and goes to class, teaches at the school three days a week instead of two, and still takes great joy in waking Louis up with his mouth on his cock whenever he can. There are only so many days left where they can stay in bed until late morning, after all. They might as well take advantage.

“Alright, you have to listen to this one, hang on,” Louis says one night, forcing one earbud into Harry’s ear. “It’s got like, a folk-y, pop sound; you’ll like it.”

“Okay, wait a second,” Harry says, setting his drink on the floor. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Louis is staring up at him, some kind of challenge in his eyes. He’s got his legs kicked up on the wall, and Harry can’t help but trail his fingers along the outside curve of his leg from knee to upper thigh until Louis squirms away.

“Lou? I said I’m ready.”

“You need to use a coaster for that drink, Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Pal, we’re literally eating our dinner on the floor. I think we’re fine.”

“No, _pal_ ,” Louis retorts. “Can’t take any chances on the security deposit. Come on, get up and get one.”

“You’re not using one, why do I have to?”

“Yeah, can you grab me one too? Thanks.” Louis blows him a kiss.

Harry stares at him, and then in an exaggerated motion, yanks the earbud from his ear, pushes himself up from the floor, and heads to the kitchen. He rummages through the pile of papers belonging to Zayn that are spread out on the table, the ones requiring them to eat dinner on the living room floor in the first place, and plucks two coasters out of the mess.

“How’s this, my dude?” he asks, dropping them both to the ground and setting his drink on top of it.

“Perfect,” Louis answers. “Here, listen to the song now, please.”

He does as he’s told, but forty five seconds into it he’s more focused on the way that Louis is singing under his breath. His eyes are closed as he sings along, his face serene.

“What’d you think?” Louis asks when the song’s over, propping himself up on his elbows. “Did you love it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry says, and it’s not even a lie. The song was good; Louis was right, he did like it. He’ll have to ask him for the name so he can add it to his January playlist. “Think I liked hearing you sing it more though.”

“Stop that, I was not singing,” Louis retorts.

“You totally were, though.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.” Harry reaches out a hand to tickle Louis’ side, the spot that always gets him, and then Louis tickles back, and then it’s _on_.

“Can the two of you get a room, please?” Liam asks, standing in the entranceway. Harry hadn't even heard him come into the house.

“Excuse me, Liam,” Harry calls, tilting his head back and looking up at Liam. From his position, Liam’s upside down, standing on the ceiling. “We’ve got a room.”

“Well, can you go use it, please?”

“We’re just trying to eat dinner, Lima bean,” Louis offers, entirely unhelpfully.

“Oh really?” Liam asks, heading for the kitchen. “Cause it looks a lot like you’re about to have sex to me.”

Harry assesses the situation and has to admit that Liam has a point: Harry’s laying on his back, one of Louis’ strong thighs pinning him to the ground, his hands scratching at Louis’ back, Louis’ hands tangled in his hair. He groans.

“I hate them. Let’s move out and get our own place.”

“Soon, baby,” Louis placates, kissing him quickly before rolling away. “Soon.”

“Are you two decent?” Liam asks, one hand over his eyes and the other holding a plate of leftover pasta, steam wafting off the top.

“Barely,” Louis says, sitting up and assuming Harry’s old position, back to the wall.

“I'm taking that as a yes,” Liam says, taking the hand away and sitting on the couch. Harry sighs and sits up, his shoulder bumping Louis’. He takes a forkful of pasta from their shared plate and tastes it; it’s still tasty, despite going cold.

“Good work on this, Lou,” he says, chewing. Louis murmurs his thanks before there's a sputter from Liam.

“Wait, _you_ made this?” he asks incredulously. Louis nods. “Lou, this is really good!”

“Had a good teacher,” he says proudly, bumping Harry’s shoulder. Harry captures Louis’ hand in his own and gives it a squeeze, holding it there while they eat.

Louis and Liam talk about a road trip that Niall wants to go on for spring break -- “Just the five of us, one last hurrah before everything changes!” -- down the East Coast. Harry’s on board but he's trying not to think about the fact that things are rapidly approaching the end.

They’ve done seven semesters; but there's still nearly a whole semester left. Plenty of time. It's gonna be okay.

Before he can allow himself to really dig into this line of thinking, he hears a shrill ringing. He nudges Louis, who’s dozing against his shoulder.

“Lou, your alarm. Think you have class.”

Louis groans and reaches over to slide the alarm off with one finger. He curls into Harry, face pressed into his chest.

“Don't want to go.”

Harry runs his hand up the back of Louis’ t-shirt, fingertips tracing the bumps of his spine. He’s quiet before he speaks, giving Louis another minute. “I know, babe. But you can't skip, it’s too early in the semester.”

Louis pulls away, a pout on his face as he stands up and picks up their now-empty dinner plate and the two forks. “Class is stupid,” he says. “What’s the point of going when it’s not even what I want to do?”

Harry hesitates; Louis is in the kitchen by now, tossing the plate into the sink, by the sounds of it, and he’s not in the mood to start a fight with him just before he heads off to class. “It’s gonna be fine, Lou,” he calls, and then he wants to smack himself. “You’ll get there. It’s not a waste of time.”

“Easy for you to say,” Louis says, coming back into the living room, backpack slung over one shoulder. “You already know you want to save the world.”

“Yeah, but--”

“I gotta go. I love you,” Louis interrupts, bending down to drop a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

“Love you too,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand and watching as he walks out of the apartment, door slamming behind him.

The moment the door shuts, he drops his head into his hand and lets out a shaky sigh. He shudders through the motion and presses his palms into his eyes.

“You okay?” Liam asks. Harry jumps. He’d forgotten he was there at all.

“Liam. Shit, you scared me.”

“Sorry, mate. Are you alright?” He’s looking at Harry with a concerned expression, and Harry doesn’t like that. He’s fine. Things are fine.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Liam asks, raising an eyebrow. He sets his plate on the coffee table and sits up, elbows pressed on his knees. Harry has the very sudden sense that he’s about to get some kind of lecture.

“Harry, is everything okay? What’s wrong with Louis?”

“Nothing, Liam.” A false sense of cheer coats his voice, ineffective. “He’s fine. Just having a bad day.”

“Harry.”

“He’s fine. Listen, I gotta go, uh, homework. I have homework.” He scrambles up and to his feet, intent on getting away from Liam.

“Harry, you can’t just avoid it. I know Louis is stressed about the job stuff. We all are. But like, it’s different with him. He’s freaking out, mate.”

“I know that!” Harry spins around to stare at Liam, voice raised. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I feel the pressure of it every goddamn day?”

Liam clears his throat and gives him a weighted look.

“Oh god, sorry,” Harry gets out, his throat dry as he falls back against the wall. “I didn’t mean to get mad at you, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

Liam’s face softens. “It’s alright. Come here, will you?”

He stretches out his arms, and Harry doesn’t really want to go, but it beats stewing in his room for twenty minutes. He crosses the room to Liam and falls into him, taking a seat on the couch. He’s got a thigh pressed against Liam’s leg and he’s leaning most of his weight on him. It can’t be comfortable for Liam, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Liam’s question is quiet in his ear, the kind of soft voice that reminds him of his mum. “What can I do?”

Harry buries his face into Liam’s sweatshirt, scratchy against his nose. “I just...I can’t do it anymore,” he starts, breath hitching.

“Oh Harry, it’s gonna be alright. It’ll work out, I know it.”

Harry pulls back, a bit stunned. “You’re not gonna, like, force me to talk this through? Overanalyze the whole thing? Who are you, and what have you done with Liam?”

Liam laughs. “Not today. Seems like today the thing you really need is just a cuddle.”

Harry presses himself close again, hugging Liam tight. He loses his balance along the way and next thing he knows, the two of them are laying on the couch, snuggled close, faces inches away from each other.

“Well, I guess this works,” Harry says, wiping a tear from his eye. He’s gonna end up talking about it and he’s probably gonna cry; time to accept it.

“Not the first time, huh?” Liam jokes, no doubt thinking about all the times they’ve fallen asleep curled up just like this.

“What am I gonna do about Louis?” Harry asks, voice soft. “What _can_ I even do?”

Liam rubs his back and Harry feels the first tear fall, his voice cracking and Liam’s face becoming a blurry mess through his tears.

“It’s like...I can’t fix it for him. I wish I _could_ , I want to so badly. But he has to fix it himself. He won’t be happy if he doesn’t. But I’m so _tired_ , Liam. I’m so tired of being strong for him and pretending that it’s all going to be fine. Because what if it’s not? What if he--”

He hitches another breath, shaking with it now. This _really_ isn’t how he saw the evening going.

“What if he can’t get a job and he has to move back to England? I can’t say goodbye to him again, Liam, I can’t, I won’t survive. I barely did the last time and that was _three weeks_ ; he could spend years looking for a job. Oh God, what am I gonna _do_?”

“Shh, shh, Harry, it’s alright, you’re getting panicky. Here, breathe with me.”

He follows the timing of Liam’s breaths, exaggerated motions to calm his heart rate.

“There you go. Alright. What can I do to help you? Do you just need to talk about it?”

“I do, I just...I feel bad. Complaining about him, I mean.”

“Not gonna judge you, mate. Promise everything can stay just between us, if you want it to be. You can tell me anything, I’m a vault. Swear it.”

Harry nods, because the prospect of being able to just talk about it, to share his feelings without being judged by someone or feeling like he’s a bad person, sounds heavenly.

“I’m tired of having to act strong in front of Louis. Tired of acting like I know there’s some answer out there waiting to be discovered, if only he works hard enough. He might _never_ find the answer. Plenty of people spend their whole lives trying to find out what they want to do. And that’s fine, it works for them. But it’s stressful to think that I might lose him for a while in the process, if he’s in England and I’m here.”

Liam nods. “It’s his future, but it’s your future too.”

“Exactly. What he ends up doing determines... God, it determines everything. It determines where we live and what kind of job I get, when we get married and when we have kids..." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I’m trying to act like it’s not this big thing, but it’s like any step he takes closes off any other doors. And I don’t want to be separated again. I can’t do it.”

He scratches at his ship tattoo through his t-shirt, as if there’s a subconscious itch there reminding him of what it represents. _Louis, home, forever._

“I know I’m gonna stand by him whatever happens,” he continues. “It’s just stressful trying to act like everything’s fine when it’s... It’s _not_. And he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t know where to go from here.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

Harry shakes his head and closes his eyes, remembering the few times he’s tried. “I just...don’t know how.”

“I think you should talk to him. I think you _need_ to. Hazza, I love you, but this isn’t healthy. You can’t keep eating yourself alive trying to make yourself strong for him. Isn’t that your whole thing, the two of you? You’re there for each other. It’s his mess, but you have to let him be there for you too, so you can work through the mess together.”

“I’m just scared.”

“What is he gonna do, dump you?” Liam actually _laughs_ at this, like the idea is unthinkable. Maybe it is to him. “Hazza, he’d never. Never ever in a million years. Not even if you… I don’t know, decided you wanted to scrap your whole degree and move to Iceland and be a sheep farmer. He’d find a way to get there too.”

“I hope so. I really, really hope so.”

“I know so,” Liam says, and the confidence in his voice is enough to inspire just a bit of that in Harry. That maybe... maybe he _can_ talk to Louis.

Maybe he can help him find a solution.

*

Harry’s got the same mentor teacher as the semester before, Mr. Menino, and the same group of students as well. It’s good; because he’s used to them, he feels like he can focus more on the actual content of what he’s teaching more.

Little Olivia is still just as charming as ever, asking him about his “boyyyyfriend” and taking up half of their class time trying to distract him with discussions of what it's like to be in college. She's a bit of a menace, kind of like Louis. Maybe that’s why he likes her so much.

Things at the school are exactly the same, which Harry appreciates. It had been fun to come back and see the kids after winter break, their excited faces happy to tell him all about their Christmas presents and what they did for New Year’s Eve and “I got a New Year’s _kiss_ , Mr. Styles; she kissed me on the cheek!” Their enthusiasm keeps him going on the hard days, when his senior thesis is threatening to take over his life and he can’t figure out how to broach a difficult topic with Louis.

“What are you planning on doing after you graduate, Harry?” Mr. Menino asks him one afternoon as they’re packing up the supplies left behind by the last class of the day.

Harry stills, fingers hovering over an errant paint brush that’s rolled under the table. “Not entirely sure, Mr. Menino,” he finally says, grabbing the brush and standing up properly. “Just going to see what happens.”

“Because I think you’re really good at this. Are you hoping to find a job here?”

“A teaching job?” Harry asks, staring at him blankly. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I could handle a whole classroom on my own just yet. But yeah, I’d like to be working in a school at least.”

“You can though, Harry,” Mr. Menino says encouragingly. “I’ve seen it. You’re good at what you do.”

“But what if I decide I want to teach something else? Like what if I want to be like, an English teacher or something? I don’t want to pin myself down so soon.”

“You get a job, you give it a shot, and if you don’t like it, it’s only a year of your life.” He settles his elbows on the work table and looks up at Harry. “Listen, every college student thinks that what they do right after they graduate is forever. But it’s not. It’s just a year, and it goes by so quickly. You just take it day by day, and figure it out from there.”

“Okay,” Harry says with a nod, turning the statement over in his head. “That’s good, I’ll have to tell that to -- thanks, Mr. Menino.”

“Jake,” he says, a strong hand clapping over Harry’s shoulder. “I think you can call me Jake now. At least when the kids aren’t around.”

“Thanks, uh, Jake,” he says, and the word feels foreign in his mouth. “I have to go now, but thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, Harry. You have a nice weekend, alright?”

“You too.”

He’s still thinking about the conversation when he gets back to the apartment, having grabbed a quick coffee with Ed, who’s become his friend over the past few months of teaching. They’ve hung out a few times, the most notable of which involved a bright autumn day in the quad and a guitar.

He calls a quick hello to Zayn and then bundles up for a run along the river, five miles in which he thinks about how to talk to Louis. He’s been floating ideas in his head since he spoke to Liam about it, a conversation which ultimately made him feel better but didn’t give him any real direction.

It’s just -- how are they supposed to move forward if they’re stuck? How are they supposed to move forward if they’re not together?

It nags at him all afternoon, through the run and his shower and a dinner with Niall on the couch, both of them eating burritos grabbed from the dining hall as they watch Parks and Rec. Harry’s listening to the words Niall is saying but he’s not really hearing them, thoughts still focused on Louis, on what the future holds for them, on how they’re going to work this out.

He gives up after three episodes and heads to the library even though it’s a Thursday and he doesn’t have class tomorrow; there’s no way he’ll get anything done at home. Not with his mental state as it is.

But then he can’t get anything done at the library, either. He spends twenty minutes staring at the same page of a very boring textbook on educational policy, snapchats Gemma, texts his stepdad a funny meme he found online. Goes on Facebook and likes three random posts. Watches a video of someone making cupcakes and bookmarks the recipe to try for his birthday. Wonders if it’s a faux pas to order takeout to the library. Goes back on Facebook and ignores two stupidly conservative political posts from people he went to high school with. Closes his computer and puts his phone away. Takes it out and thinks about texting Louis. Puts it away when he realizes it’s nearly 10 pm and he really needs to fucking focus.

Eventually, he’s read the required twenty five pages and highlighted enough of it that maybe he’ll be able to skim before the quiz on Monday. Probably not. He packs up his books and texts Louis to let him know that he’s coming home, asks if they can talk.

He checks his phone probably a hundred times on the fifteen minute walk back from the library, but he never gets an answer. That’s fine; maybe Louis is in the shower.

Louis isn’t in the shower, Harry finds out when he gets home. He’s sitting on a beanbag chair with Perrie, the two of them laying on their stomachs and peering out the window.

“Hi, baby,” Louis says when he spots Harry. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Harry answers, stripping off his coat and taking notice of the way there’s a half empty bottle of wine next to Louis, a nearly empty glass on the windowsill just in front of him. Harry takes off his shoes, old Nike sneakers Gemma got him for Christmas the year he started college. Right when he and Louis had gotten together, actually. That’s probably why he can’t get rid of them. “School was good. Gave me some stuff to think about.”

“Yeah? Perrie, squish over, let Harry sit down.”

Perrie looks like she might protest, but then Louis turns to her and Harry can’t see the look on his face but he presumes Louis is giving her the same irritated look he gives Harry when he won’t do something he wants. Perrie does as she’s told, so whatever it is, it works.

“What are we doing?” Harry asks, laying down next to Louis. They’re not quite touching, but Louis is warm next to him, familiar comfort after a long day. Even despite that, Harry still feels like things are a bit off.

He brushes his hand against Louis’, just a quick hello, but Louis pulls back with a sharp hiss. “You’re fucking freezing, get off me!”

“Critiquing outfits,” Perrie explains. “It’s prime people watching, especially in winter. Like, can you believe these girls wear these outfits? It’s freezing cold, and they’ve practically got just their underwear on. Come on, have some respect.”

Harry stays quiet, waiting to see what all this is about.

He doesn’t have to wait long; within a few minutes, a group of girls who can’t be more than sophomores walk by, teetering on their heels. Perrie points out how one of them is wearing a dress that looks like it’s made from a paper bag. “She must be freezing.”

“I know, I kind of want to go out there and offer her the blanket from my bed or something.”

“Hey!” Harry says, the first thing he’s said since sitting down. “Please don’t.”

Louis flashes him an amused smile before turning back to the window. “I’m not going to _actually_ do it, love. Besides, it’s too cold for me to go outside.”

“Look at that one! Where did she find a dress that color? Or I should say colors, it looks like a fucking rainbow,” Perrie amends.

“We like rainbows though. Don’t we, Hazza?” Louis elbows him, and Harry nods. “Anyway, her friend’s outfit is way worse. Look at that guy! Why is he wearing that? Honestly.”

Harry’s eyes feel heavy, and soon enough he’s not even making sense of the words they’re saying. Their conversation is easy, words passed back and forth between friends who’ve known each other for years, making fun of each other and disagreeing with no heat behind it. Harry can’t pay attention to any of it. His brain feels overloaded and all he really wants is to fall asleep with Louis’ arm weighing him down.

“I’m gonna head to bed. You coming?”

“Not yet,” Louis says, eyes focused outside. “Gonna stay up for a bit longer. Might as well, yeah?”

“Well -- yeah, alright. Ok, goodnight.” He drops a kiss to the top of Louis’ head and waves goodbye to Perrie.

“Love you,” Louis says as he starts to walk away, and Harry stops at the bottom step.

“Love you too,” Harry calls back, but Louis has already turned back to Perrie.

Harry gets in bed and finds that he isn’t tired at all, thoughts racing like horses at the Grand National. He can’t talk to Louis about things yet; that much is clear. Maybe he can just vent to Liam as required and the rest of the time, ignore the problem altogether.

He doesn’t know what time it is when Louis comes to bed, but he’s still awake. It means he doesn’t miss Louis’ kiss on his temple and the quiet, whispered “I love you.”

Harry pretends he’s already asleep.

*

“Something smells good,” Louis murmurs, coming up behind Harry and squeezing him from the middle. He presses a kiss to the skin at the back of Harry’s neck, just above where his t-shirt ends, and he must be on tip-toe because Louis generally can’t reach that without a little boost. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning,” Harry says, flipping his egg on toast over in the pan. He relaxes into Louis for approximately half a second and then reaches for the salt and pepper. He can’t get it, not with Louis holding him there. “Sorry, can you just-- I can’t reach them.”

“Oh,” Louis says, voice flat. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” He lets Harry go and leans against the kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over his chest. Harry dutifully shakes on the salt and pepper and then sneaks a glance at Louis, who is -- not wearing a shirt. Entirely unfair, really. “Can you make me one? I’m so hungry.”

Harry looks at the clock and then at Louis and shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m already running late. I can leave the stuff out for you to make your own? I gotta go.”

He slips the toast onto a paper towel and leans over to give Louis a quick kiss, practically a peck. There’s no heat behind it, and Louis looks bereft when he pulls away, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Harry grabs his backpack from a chair in the kitchen and is out the door before he can think about it.

He should probably text Louis, he realizes, should probably apologize for having to run out the door. Should probably figure out when they’re going to talk about this whole thing, too. But then he runs into a friend on the way to class and he forgets about texting Louis entirely.

The whole week passes like this, quick kisses in the mornings and barely seeing each other the rest of the time. They have sex one night, quick and dirty, exactly what Harry needs in that moment, but when they’re laying there Zayn knocks on the door and insists he needs Louis’ help with an urgent problem. Louis goes without a second thought, wiping himself clean and throwing on his clothes without barely a glance at Harry.

Louis keeps asking him what’s wrong, and Harry has no answers.

“It’s just thoughts about class, about teaching stuff.”

“Can I help?”

“I don’t think so. It’s like…still bouncing around in my head. Not ready to turn it into real thoughts yet, you know?”

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when you’re ready, I’m here to listen. I gotta go to rehearsal now, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, see you,” Harry says, thinking _if only you knew what I was really thinking about. Would you be so eager to chat about it then?_

Probably not.

He’s sitting on the couch on Wednesday night, reading over some research on educational policy for his thesis, when Louis comes in and turns on the television.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry asks, kicking him with his socked foot. “I’m doing homework.”

“So?”

“So, come on. Please, I was here first.”

“You can go study anywhere! This is the only place I can watch this game.”

“Can’t you find it online? Please, I can’t use the kitchen because the leaky faucet is pissing the hell out of me and I can’t go to our room cause I’ll fall asleep.”

“Go to the library!”

“Louis, it’s freezing outside. No way. Come on, I just need to do this. Just find it online, stick in some headphones, and we’ll be fine.”

He’s acutely aware of the fact that they’re sharing a couch, sitting just inches away from each other, and this is the closest they’ve been to each other all day. It’s possibly the most they’ve talked all week, and this is quickly devolving into a fight.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Harry. Do you really want to do this right now?”

“Yes!” Harry sputters. “Yes I do, because you know that this project is important to me, you know that I need to do a good job on this to graduate.”

“God forbid I come in here and watch a game in the same room as my boyfriend, who I’ve barely talked to all week! Maybe I just want to hang out with you! Did you think of that?”

“Louis, I love you, I do, but you’re really pissing me off right now.”

“Well, good! You’re pissing me off too! I don’t want to fight with you about this, especially not when it’s your birthday tomorrow. But I don’t understand what’s gotten into you lately. We’ve barely talked all week, we’ve had sex exactly once and it was over in no time, and now you won’t even look at me. Come on, Harry. Don’t do this.”

“Do what, Louis?” Harry deliberately holds eye contact with Louis, because between the two of them, he’s not going to let Louis win.

Louis rises to his feet, hands on his hips, and if this was a cartoon there would be steam coming out of his ears. “Harry, whatever you want to say, just fucking spit it out.”

“It doesn’t matter, Louis. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, it’s worth a fucking shot, isn’t it? Or is this not worth fixing for you?”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Harry’s not talking about a breakup. They’re cracked, not irreversibly broken. There’s still so much to salvage. But it doesn’t matter, because now Harry’s pissed.

“Of course it’s fucking worth fixing!” Harry gets to his feet, and he feels like they’re boxers in a ring. The papers are on the table, forgotten, his thesis just a wisp of a thought in his head now. “You never want to talk about what’s actually going on, which is that you might be _leaving me_ , and instead you just act like everything is fine when it’s not!”

Louis’ face turns angry. “What the fuck are you talking about, leaving you? I’m trying to do everything I can to stay and you’re always there brooding, stressing me out, and trying to ask me about it.”

“I _never_ ask you about it,” Harry argues, bending down to organize everything on the table, just for something to do with his hands. At the very least, it’ll stop him from tearing his own hair out.

There’s a pause and a slow, deep inhale from Louis, his face suddenly turning soft. “Harry, I love you more than anything in the world. But you’ve gotta trust me, and I feel like you haven’t, not lately.”

“I can’t, not right now!’ Harry says, and he’s aware that his voice is raised. He can’t help it. “Not when there’s so much at stake.”

They’re staring at each other, Harry’s hands by his sides and clenched into fists, his jaw closed tightly to prevent himself from saying something he doesn’t mean.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry. I’m not this magic prince who can ride in here on a white horse with the solution to all the problems. Because no, we both know that’d be you, right?”

Harry inhales sharply, voice hard. “How dare you suggest--”

“Uh, lads?”

It’s Liam.

Harry and Louis turn to look at him, and Harry, so in tune with all of Louis’ motions and movements, the cataloguer of all of his ticks and tells, doesn’t miss the way his hand shoots out towards Harry’s for the briefest time, before he pulls back.

“Sorry to interrupt, uh, whatever’s going on. But can you keep it down? It’s past eleven, and some of us need to get to sleep. Can you take it to your room, please?”

“No worries,” Harry says loudly. “I’m going to bed. Louis can stay here. Can watch TV all night, for all I care. A prince needs his beauty sleep, right?” He spits the offending word out like venom, the heat of his anger roiling in his blood.

He pushes past Louis without a word, feet stomping on the wooden steps. Past eleven means that there’s less than an hour until his birthday.

God, what a mess.

He strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed, head pounding like he’s been drinking. He’s curled up on his own side and the bed feels massive without Louis. There’s a nasty knot in his stomach, painful and growing, making him feel like he could throw up. His face is hot and scratchy, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling tears coming. Suddenly he’s shaking a little bit with it, silent tears falling onto the pillow.

He’s still awake when the bed dips later that night, Louis lifting the covers on his own side and getting into bed. He waits for the brush of lips against his cheek, but it never comes.

For the first time possibly ever, they’re going to sleep without a goodnight kiss.

*

Harry wakes to a pressing feeling in his bladder and a headache thumping behind his temples. He opens his eyes and tries to remember why he feels so empty, why his heart feels bruised. It hits him then, a minute later: he’d fought with Louis last night.

God, that had really been a mistake, not the way to go about things at all. If he wants to fix things with Louis, clear the air between them, he needs to do it with a civil conversation. An argument isn’t going to fix it.

Renewed pressure in his bladder reminds him that he really needs to pee, so he gets out of bed and snags his phone from the bedside table. He takes a hoodie from the top of the dresser -- his or Louis’, he’s not sure anymore -- and pulls it on before slipping out into the hall to use the bathroom.

He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to cry all over again: his eyes are red and blotchy, and he feels sick thinking about how he and Louis got into a fight. It’s not like them; fighting isn’t their style; the rare times they do argue, Harry’s reminded why they avoid it. It makes him feel absolutely nauseous, thinking of how he yelled at Louis.

He pees and brushes his teeth, and he’s just about to get head back to his room before he gets an idea. He’ll go downstairs and make some tea for Louis as a little apology. They can make this better, can clear the air and have a civil conversation and then kiss and make up.

He heads down to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. He takes out a teabag and sets int into the cup, waiting patiently for the water to heat up. He was wrong to attack Louis like that; he’s been avoidant all week, getting irritated by little things he’s done for absolutely no reason, and instead of speaking to Louis about it, he freaked out.

The water boils quickly and as he soaks the teabag for the three minutes that Louis likes -- no more, no less -- he thinks about what he might have for breakfast. There’s something nagging in his brain, something he’s forgotten, but he can’t put his finger on it just yet. Fighting with Louis has him all out of sorts; he needs to restore order as soon as he can.

The three minutes are up and Harry takes out the teabag and opens the sliding door of the rubbish bin to drop it in. He’s just about to close the door when he sees a flash of purple, a familiar logo on the top of a paper.

 _Dear Mr. Tomlinson_ , it says, and Harry fishes it out, more curious than anything else. He’s distinctly aware that snooping has never gotten him anything he actually wanted to hear, but it’s too late now.

The letter is torn in half, and if Harry dug through the trash long enough he’s sure he’d find the other half, the missing piece at the bottom. But he doesn’t need that to know exactly what this is, and even worse, what it represents.

It’s an acceptance letter to New York University, and Louis has thrown in in the trash. Louis got into grad school in New York City, and he didn’t even tell Harry. Louis got into graduate school, his guaranteed chance to stay here, stay with Harry, and he tossed it in the garbage like it’s nothing.

How could Louis _reject_ a grad school and not tell him? He’s not positive that Louis said no, of course, but based on their earlier conversations and the fact that this is in the rubbish bin, it’s clear the deed is as good as done.

Anger bubbles up again, all the feelings from last night simmering again but tenfold this time, and Harry pushes the tea aside on the counter. He doesn’t bother to clean up the mess that it makes when a bit spills out of the side. He crosses the kitchen to take a seat at the table and just stares at the letter, trying to wrack his brain for some conversation that he missed.

Why wouldn’t Louis tell him about this?

His heart feels like it’s been bruised again, another punch to the gut, an achy feeling in his chest. He’s torn between wanting to go up and yell at Louis again, startling him awake, or taking all the plates in the kitchen and throwing them at the ground. His phone beeps with a text and he wants to cry, just so so angry and _hurt_ that Louis would keep something like this.

His phone beeps again, and he decides this time he can’t ignore it, that he needs something else to focus on. He’s got nine unread texts and a missed call from his mum and he worries something terrible has happened before he catches sight of the date and he remembers it’s his birthday.

His 22nd birthday, and he’s sitting in his kitchen, the sky just beginning to brighten outside, and he’s trying not to cry.

He skips over the texts and goes right to his mum’s voicemail.  She says that she hopes Louis does something special for him, because he deserves it, and she tells him that she’s the proudest mum in the world.

Yeah, okay. He’s not sure something special is going to be happening today.

He tries not to cry but it doesn’t work, and after the tears he feels drained, devoid of emotions, needing something to warm him up. He makes coffee, not tea, because tea reminds him of Louis and he can’t think about Louis right now. He resolutely ignores the now-cold cup of tea he’d made for him; let him see it. Let him see that Harry had tried to do something nice for him, when all Louis was doing was betraying him.

It takes a while, a half hour that mainly consists of staring at the wall and replying to the texts from everyone except his mum, but then Louis enters the kitchen. His face is bright and happy, and Harry can’t understand why he looks so cheerful.

He slides into the table across from Harry, sleepy and soft and so goddamn beautiful, and it’s all Harry can do to make his face relax and quell the urge to scream.

“Hazza, happy birthday! Why are you here? You should be in bed.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth, and then Louis speaks again. “Is this about last night? Because I’m so sorry, I really am. I was way out of line, and I shouldn’t have said what I did. Come on, let’s go back to bed and we can do all kinds of fun, sexy things, I’ll even do that thing--”

“Louis.” Harry’s voice is steel, cold metal in the warmth of the room. “When were you going to tell me about NYU?”

Louis blanches, fish mouths; it’s clear that he never thought he’d have to have this conversation. “I--Harry, you know I didn’t want to go there, you know that I don’t want to go to grad school at all anymore. We talked about this.”

“But why didn’t you tell me? Just last night you were saying that I never tell you anything, and you’re here getting into fucking graduate school and keeping something like that to yourself?”

“You knew I was going to say no!” Louis cries. “It was only going to make things harder if you knew. I just wanted to save you the trouble.”

“I’m your boyfriend, I’m being affected by this too. And I definitely don’t need your _protection,_ I need to know what’s going on! You didn’t even _ask_ me what I thought.”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought!” Louis explodes, pushing the chair back and jumping to his feet. “I was going to say no, and I needed to do that for myself.”

“And you didn’t want to tell me that?”

“You tell me to go to class when I don’t want to, I _tell_ you I don’t want to go, and then you get mad at me for not telling you about something else I don’t want to be forced to do? You can’t do that. This isn’t how it works.”

And that’s the last straw, the one that gets Harry out of the chair.

The bell has been rung, and all his qualms about them fighting have gone out the window. It feels like this fight is taking place in the middle of a bonfire, the flames circling them and pulling in close, and they’re both going to be scorched by the end.

“I tell you to go because I love you,” Harry says. “Because I’m being _supportive_. And then you do things like throw this in my face.” He waves the paper at Louis. “You know that I’m scared, you know that I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen, and you know that all I want is for you to stay with me.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Louis roars. “Don’t you think I’m trying to figure out what I should do? But no, you keep trying to tell me where to go and what to do and all I want is one goddamn _ounce_ of control in my life, just to be able to make some of my own choices.”

“You know that’s what I want for you too.”

“No, I don't know, because you keep everything so fucking locked up inside that I have no clue what's going on in your head!”

Harry nearly laughs at the irony. “ _I’m_ locked up? You don’t want to tell me _anything!_ But you want to hear what I’m thinking? Well here it is, then, in plain English -- I’m really fucking scared, Louis!”

“I am too! Don’t you think I’m terrified? We both are. Everyone is. Doesn’t mean that you get the right to be a prick about some things.”

Louis is at the stove now, boiling water for tea. He takes out a tea cup and shuts the cabinet door with a loud bang. Tea for one, apparently.

“I’m being a prick because you can be so fucking selfish,” Harry says. He’s pacing the kitchen now, words bubbling out of him like they’ve been locked down for months. Which they have, actually; this fight seems like it came out of nowhere, but really it’s been steadily brewing beneath the surface ever since the day months ago when Louis said he’d changed his mind, that he didn’t actually know what he wanted to do.  “You’re making all these choices, and -- what about me, Louis? What about what I want? Don’t you care about that?”

“Of _course_ I care!” Louis shouts. “But this is _my choice!”_

On the wall, Harry can see the calendar with graduation day circled in bright red pen; that’s what he focuses on as Louis continues to yell, talking about how he has agency and needs to do some things for himself. He doesn’t even seem to understand that Harry _wants_ him to have those things; Harry doesn’t know how to make him see, either.

There’s a creak on the floorboards in the hall and then Zayn pops his head into the kitchen, muttering a quick, “Sorry lads, just have to get food for class,” and breaking the tension in the room momentarily.

Harry and Louis go silent like guilty children. Louis is back at the table by now, hair messy from running his fingers through it in his anger, t-shirt rumpled from sleep, solitary cup of tea by his hands. Harry’s by the sink, arms crossed as he leans against the counter, and the offending paper sits on the table between them.

And oh, right, class. Well, looks like neither of them will be going to that today. Harry’s voice is too hoarse and there’s too much between them to even think about leaving right now. There’s no resolution to this. He doesn’t know if there’s going to be one anytime soon, really, and that’s what hurts.

Zayn darts out the door and the fight resumes, heat behind the words burning Harry from the inside. The sun rises high in the sky and they’re still fighting, exchanging insults and barbs that sting like knives, because they know each other inside and out and that means they know exactly how to hurt each other.

“It’s really rich of you to be trying to tell me what to do when you never had this kind of problem,” Louis hisses. “It was an easy decision for you. You just woke up one day and said you wanted to be a teacher, and that was that. Doesn’t work like that for all of us.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry shouts. “Don’t you think that if I could find a quick answer for you I would? But no. Instead you just make all these promises about the two of us and now you’re just willing to throw them away like you don’t even care. Do you, Louis? Do you even care about me at all?”

It’s a low blow, he knows that, but he’s so, so tired; tired of fighting, tired of not knowing what’s going to happen, tired of this whole thing. But not tired of Louis, no; he could never be tired of him.

“You cannot be fucking serious right now,” Louis cries out, voice cracking with the tears that are falling. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can’t believe you would even suggest that. Not after everything that’s happened between us. Not after...no.”

“Well you sure as hell are making me feel like you don’t care right now,” Harry retorts, face hot and angry, and he doesn’t even _mean_ it, wants to take it back as soon as he’s said it, but he can’t.

“Shut the fuck up, Harry. Don’t stand there and act like you have all the answers. You always do this, always wanting the rest of us to follow your plan. You don’t even think that maybe we don’t want to.”

“What are you saying then, that you don’t want to spend the rest of our lives together? That you don’t want me after all?”

“I never said that, you know that’s not true. What I’m trying to say is--”

His phone rings where it’s sitting on the table and that makes them both jump, startled into silence. It’s Gemma; he can see her contact picture on the screen. It’s a photo of the three of them actually, taken at Thanksgiving, the same one that’s pinned to the corkboard on their bedroom wall. Time freezes and they freeze with it, the only noise that of the ringtone.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Harry announces, breaking the silence that’s fallen between them. “Don’t bother following me.”

He leaves the room without his phone and doesn’t spare Louis a second glance.

He doesn’t cry this time, just slips off his hoodie and crawls into bed. His stomach is grumbling, and he notices that it’s nearly noon, that he and Louis have been fighting for hours. He feels small, suddenly, feels like he just needs a hug from his mum and a long sleep. The last thing he thinks of before succumbing to sleep is that it’s his birthday, and birthdays aren’t supposed to be like this.

*

He wakes hours later and feels absolutely ravenous, throat dry and scratchy. He’s still angry, still absolutely furious at Louis, but it’s dulled a little. _Maybe they can fix this_ , he thinks. It’s not too late to fix this.

He puts on some new clothes, warmer this time, and goes downstairs and finds Louis sitting in the armchair, a blanket thrown over him. He’s not quite awake but not quite sleeping, trapped in that in-between place of doziness.

“Louis,” Harry says quietly, voice firm. He’s standing ten feet away, not willing to get too close with things so precarious between them.

“Hmm?” Louis asks, bolting upright as his eyes open. His eyes are rimmed with red, and the sight of it makes Harry’s chest ache. Outside, the sky is gray and dull, the light reflecting back inside and casting shadows on Louis.

“Are you hungry? I was thinking of ordering some food.”

“I already ordered a pizza,” Louis says, unfolding his legs from underneath him and stretching out. “Should be here soon.”

“Okay,” Harry says, feeling like he’s been rendered mute. “That’s -- that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Louis says hesitantly. “So if you just, like, wanna wait…”

Harry nods, and then after a minute he takes a seat on the couch, at the end far away from Louis. Harry doesn’t know where to look; his body is so used to constantly seeking out Louis’ presence that it’s a struggle to avoid looking at him. The apartment is deadly quiet, like they’re the only two there, and Harry’s not sure if that’s true or not. He’s certain that all of them know about the fight; if they hadn’t heard it themselves, Zayn would have texted them.

The doorbell rings just as the awkward silence is hitting its peak, and Louis jumps up to get it.

“Do you need--”

“No, I’ve got it,” Louis says, a glimpse of warmth creeping into his tone for the first time all day. “I ordered it, I can pay for it.” His voice is raspy, like he too has a sore throat, and that causes another ache in Harry’s heart.

Low words are exchanged with the pizza guy and then Louis shuts the door and sets the pizza on the coffee table. “I’ll just get -- plates. And something to drink? Water?” Harry nods.

He’s back in no time with two plastic plates and two bottles of water, handing one to Harry. Harry takes it wordlessly and their fingers brush, the first physical contact they’ve had all day. Wow, Harry is really a wreck if he’s resorting to that kind of measurement for his day.

They eat in silence, the only sound that of the downstairs toilet flushing and then a door slamming. So someone is home, Harry notes. The pizza is from that fancy place that they rarely go to, usually thinking that it’s too expensive, and Louis had ordered Harry’s favorite kind instead of his.

“Thanks for the pizza, Lou,” Harry says quietly when he finishes his second slice, the nickname slipping out without his permission.

“Welcome,” Louis says. “Can we--”

“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding definitively. “I think we should talk.”

“I had, like, a lot of time to think. When you were napping, I mean. And I’m sorry I screamed at you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about NYU. That was wrong.”

“I’m sorry too, Louis. But I don’t think…” Harry sighs. “This can’t be fixed that easily. We have a lot of stuff to talk about.”

“I know,” Louis says solemnly, eyes on his socked feet.

“Like, starting with what the _fuck_ you were thinking, Louis,” Harry’s voice is quiet. “How could you keep something like that from me?”  
  
“I wasn’t thinking,” he answers automatically. “I just got the letter and I panicked, you know? It felt like everything was happening all at once, and I just felt like I had no fucking control over any of it.”

“That’s not a reason, Lou.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry! I panicked, and I said no, and I figured it was over and done with.”

“So you just thought we’d never talk about it?”

Louis shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, yeah? I guess so. What difference does it make? You already knew I was going to say no anyway.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between saying no because it’s something we’ve decided together and saying no out of panic.”

“What happened to ‘I’ll follow you anywhere, Louis’?” Anger is creeping back into Louis’ voice; Harry can see him digging his nails into his palms. He wants to lean over and uncurl his fingers, wants to keep him from leaving marks. He doesn’t. “What happened to ‘it’s always gonna be me and you, always and no matter what’? What about all that, Harry?”

“I still want that,” Harry insists. “I still want _you_. I always have. But I don’t think we can have any of that if we’re not going to talk about things.”

“You know why I can’t talk about this with you?” Louis’ voice rises steadily, and Harry flinches a little bit, tugging his knees in towards his chest. “Because you fucking stress me out sometimes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry asks. He’s properly crying now, because this whole day has been too much since the very beginning. It’s nearly dark outside now, the sky streaked pink in a pretty sunset. If he were in a better mood, he’d grab his camera and take a photo of it, try and paint it later. But not today.

“It’s like...sometimes you just look at me, and I feel like my heart is breaking.”

That’s...a lot. Harry scrubs his hands over his face as he tries to think about how to answer. What can he even say? It sounds painful, but at the same time, he feels the same way some days. Sometimes loving Louis just _hurts_. His hurt and his words are stuck in a big lump in his throat, but Louis smashes forward before Harry can even try to get through it.

“I feel like you want _everything_ from me, and I can’t give that to you. I can’t promise I’m gonna be able to give you everything you deserve. And that stresses me out.”

“Louis, I’ve never wanted--”

“You do, though, Harry. You want this whole glamorous life, a nice house and twelve kids and to go on holidays, and I don’t know if I can give you that kind of life.”

“You _can_ , though. The kind of life I want is one with you! That’s all. I don’t care about the house or the holidays or -- well, yeah, I care about the kids, but only if you care about them too. I don’t want any of those things if they’re not with you.”

They’re both crying now, and Harry feels more and more naive for thinking that they could work this out today. Nothing has been resolved, they haven’t even reached a truce; in fact, it feels a bit like a breakup.

He’s so afraid to ask it, but he has to know. “Are you -- are you trying to break up with me?”

Louis wipes at his eyes, shaking his head furiously, and Harry’s heartbeat calms its racing pace. “That’s not what I’m saying, not at all. I just -- sometimes I feel like I can’t give you everything you deserve. And that stresses me out.”

“Louis, please. I don’t care about any of that stuff. I just care about you.”

“Me too, Harry,” Louis sobs, voice cracking, “but what if that isn’t enough?”

“It will be, Louis, it will!” Harry vows. “Louis, I love you so much that sometimes it actually _hurts,_ it hurts because I would do _anything_ for you. We’ll make it work. I don’t care what it takes.” He stands and starts pacing the living room, full of so much energy that he might break a plate if he doesn’t do something more productive soon.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just watches as he paces the floor, so Harry continues. “What I’m scared of is you leaving. It feels like you’re taking any opportunity to get out of here, to get away from me.”

“I am not!” Louis says, jumping out of his seat.

“You are, though, first with job stuff and now this grad school thing. It’s like -- you didn’t even give me a chance to talk about it with you. You just did it. I didn’t even get a seat at the table, didn’t even get to discuss it.”

“You didn’t get a seat at the table ‘cause it’s _my_ fucking life! And what am I supposed to do? Saddle myself with thousands of dollars in loans -- on top of the ones I already have -- just so I can stay here with you? I don’t think so. There has to be another way.”

“Lou, don’t you get it?” Harry cries out, wiping his eyes. “It’s your life, but it’s my life too! I feel like you--”

“I what, Harry? What is it?” Louis’ voice is angry and demanding, and Harry has never, _ever_ heard him like this.

Harry’s voice shudders when he answers. “I feel like you’re just never going to come back to me.”

For the first time in hours, it’s silent. The only sound in the room is the heater cranking on and buzzing lowly, and the sound of Harry and Louis breathing in tandem.

“Harry,” Louis finally says. “Why would you _ever_ think that?”

Someone unlocks the front door and in steps Niall, but neither of them pay him any attention as he strides up the stairs like a man on a mission (a mission to get out of the living room, most likely).

“Because you’re going to _leave_ ,” Harry answers weakly. “If you don’t have a job in three months, you’ll be _gone_ and I’ll be _alone_ and you _promised_ me that you would stay. You promised, Lou. You said I’d never have to be without you.”

Louis presses his palms over his eyes and even in the dark of the room, Harry can see him shaking.

“This is what I’m talking about. I just feel like I’m always going to disappoint you. I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

“ _You_ are, Louis. You’re the only thing that’s enough. But I need _you_ , not the shell of you that’s afraid to open up to me about this stuff.”

“It’s not like they sell American visas in a store. I can’t just walk in and ask for one. I need a reason to stay, and right now, I don’t have one.”

“You could get married,” Niall says from the entrance to the stairs, now in workout clothes like he’s heading to the gym. And, God, his marriage comments are usually funny or at least enough to break the tension, but this time they’re the exact wrong thing to say.

“No,” Louis says, ferociously shaking his head as he takes a seat in the armchair again. “No way.”

“I thought--” Niall starts.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Harry interrupts. “You’re turning down perfectly logical opportunities to stay here.”

“When we get married, we’re going to do it right,” Louis cuts in, and normally the _when_ of his statement would send a thrill up Harry’s spine, but right now he can’t think about it. “We’re not going to do it because we’re being forced into it. We’re going to do it properly, with nice suits and a big ballroom and all the fancy decorations.”

“I don’t care about that stuff!” Harry cries. “I don’t _care_. I just want you.”

“You deserve so much more than a shitty courthouse wedding.”

“I deserve _you_.”

“Sorry, guys,” Niall says quietly, heading for the door before his apology even has time to settle. “Didn’t mean to -- whatever. Anyway. Happy birthday, Harry.”

Oh, right. Harry keeps forgetting that it’s his birthday. It’ll be over in a few hours, and they’ve spent the entire day fighting.

He’s so, _so_ tired. He just wants this to be over, wants them to not be so angry with one another. There must be some way they can work it out, something that doesn’t involve them shouting for hours.

“Lou. Babe,” Harry says, taking a seat on the couch again, but this time on the end closer to Louis. “We can’t move forward unless we’re on the same page.”

“I’m so scared,” Louis whispers.

“What are you scared of?” Harry probes gently. “Just tell me, and then we’ll figure it out.”

“Only if you do too,” Louis says, his voice quiet, resigned. Harry nods. “I’m scared that I’ll never be enough for you. I’m scared that one day you’re going to wake up and look at me and realize that you were totally wrong about me, and you’ll leave.”

“Lou--”

“And I feel like anytime I talk about not wanting to go to class, you’re judging me for it. Or every time I say I don’t like my major, you’re realizing all over again how screwed up I am.”

“Lou, no. I’m not--I’m never _judging_ you. I’m trying to get you to keep moving, to not get stuck. But I didn’t realize it was stressful for you, I thought you were trying to get me to push you to go, like motivation.”

“I can’t believe you think I’d leave you. I just… I’d never.”

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I’m scared you’re not going to come back to me, because you’re going to go home and realize you like it more there. I’m scared you’re trying to come up with reasons to get away from me. Like the other night, when you were hanging out with Perrie, I felt like you didn’t _want_ me there, and that -- that hurt, Lou. It hurts when I feel like you’re trying to find reasons to leave, when all I want you to do is stay.”

He opens his eyes and finds Louis staring at him with unexpected warmth.

“I just want us to make the decisions together, Louis,” Harry continues. “I don’t care where we live or what we do. I really, really just want to be with you. I guess... I love you so much and I’m terrified that there’ll be a day you don’t feel the same.”

“So, basically, we’re scared of the same thing?” Louis wipes his wet eyes with his hands and then takes Harry’s hands in his own. They’re warm and soft just like always, and it’s the first proper contact they’ve made all day. Harry already feels more settled because of it.

“I guess so,” Harry says with a shaky chuckle. “I love you so, so much. That’s all I care about. The rest is just details. I just want us to be able to talk about things. It’s okay if we’re scared, but I need us to be scared together.”

“Come here,” Louis says, and he pulls Harry onto the armchair with him. It’s a tight squeeze, but they’ve done it before and they can do it again. The two of them are tangled up like knots, hips pressed together, Harry’s arms squished against Louis’ ribs. It’s not that comfortable.

Harry doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, shaping the words against Harry’s temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“No, let me. I’m so sorry that I ruined your birthday. This was a very inconvenient time for a crisis.”

Against all instinct, Harry laughs. “I don’t think there’s ever a convenient time for a crisis.”

Louis smiles. “I just...I love you so much, baby. I never want you to feel like I don’t. Because I do. A lot.”

“I love you very much a lot, too,” Harry says, words quiet in the few inches of space between them. “Are we alright?”

“I think we will be,” Louis says after a minute. “I mean, it’s not fixed, but we’ll get there. Well, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Birthday kiss,” he says with a smirk, closing the gap between them to give him exactly that. There’s no real heat behind it, but it’s warm and comforting, exactly what Harry needs. Like home.

“You’ll always be my home, okay?” Louis says when he pulls away, and not for the first time, Harry wonders if he’s a mindreader. “Even if I get a little lost along the way. It’s you. Always.”

“Love you,” Harry says, and Louis says it back Harry leans his forehead against Louis’ shoulder, breathing him in.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Louis asks a few minutes later.

Harry nods, and he lets Louis move them both to the couch where they can be more comfortable. Louis flicks on _Love Actually_ , entirely inappropriate for the season but also the perfect thing for them to watch today, because Harry loves Louis and Louis loves Harry and they both love this movie. Louis curls up behind him and Harry finally feels warm for the first time all day.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs to Louis, whose lips are pressed against the back of his head. “We’re gonna be alright.”

“We are,” Louis agrees, squeezing him tight, and then they start the movie.

*

Harry wakes and it takes a moment to realize that he’d fallen asleep. The television screen is dark in front of him and Louis isn’t there, and he’s just starting to get worried when Louis walks in from the kitchen. His steps are quiet, and he’s holding -- he’s holding a cupcake with a single candle burning bright.

“Lou,” he says quietly, barely a breath, feeling like his heart is expanding.

“Hazza,” Louis greets, “it’s 11:58. Figured you deserved two really good minutes of your birthday, since I ruined the rest.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Harry chides, sitting up. The blanket they’d been using for warmth pools around his waist, and he leans forward to smile at Louis. “It’s just a day. You’re forever, though. You can make it up to me on March 1st, okay? Gives you a whole month to plan something good.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Louis says with a grin. “Make a wish. Better make it a good one.”

An hour later, they’re in bed, Louis’s front pressed against his back, breath ghosting the back of Harry’s neck, and Harry thinks there’s a pretty good chance his wish will come true.

*

Sprinkles of glitter fill the grooves in the kitchen table, red and pink flecks that cling to anything they touch. It’s been ten days since Harry made the Valentine’s Day project for his class, and yet the glitter stays, harsh and persistent.

“Just leave it, Haz,” Louis says, looking over his shoulder at Harry, who’s trying to dig the glitter out with the corner of an index card. “It’s fine.”

“It’s annoying,” Harry answers. “I keep finding it in my notebooks and on the bottoms of glasses and last night there was some in my _dinner_. It won’t go _away_.”

Louis scoffs as he brings two cups of tea over to the table. He wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist, placing it in his own lap. “Hazza,” he says as he tugs the index card away. “Leave it. What are we gonna do, throw the table in the rubbish?”

“I wish we could,” Harry retorts, and then he wraps his free hand around the cup of tea, warm against his hand. “Except then we’d have to go get a new one, and it’s really fucking cold out.”

Louis makes a low hum of agreement, then trails his sockless foot up Harry’s leg, dragging his freezing toes along his shin.

“Ah, _fuck_!” Harry hisses as he jerks away, spilling some of his tea on the table. “Get away from me, honestly. Look what you made me do.”

Louis just laughs in response.

He gets up from the table to get a sponge, wiping the table down. When he lifts it up, a handful of glitter is stuck to the bottom. He sighs, trying not to be too bothered by it. He’s the only one who seems to care that much anyway. Except for Niall, but he picks his battles.

“Lou, Harry, come in here!” It’s Liam, yelling at them from the living room. “Come on, hurry up.”

He and Louis share a look and shrug. “I swear, he better be telling us that Beyoncé dropped another surprise album,” Louis mutters, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Don’t know if I can handle another hour watching Liam try to stack pennies for a world record again.”

When they get to the living room, Niall is laying with his feet up on the wall, phone in his hand and a smile on his face. Zayn is on his laptop, headphones in his ears. Liam is staring at the television, looking far too excited.

“Look!” He exclaims, pointing at the television. He’s watching the Weather Channel, of all things. It’s currently showing a map of the country while the announcer talks about the intense cold snap the Northeast region is going through, one of the coldest in recent memory. Not for the first time, Harry wonders why he didn’t go to college in Southern California instead.

“Why are you watching the Weather Channel, Payno?” Louis asks. “It’s one of the most boring things you could do, and you’re competing with that time Harry made us both go to the hardware store with him that time he decided to hang up all his photos on our bedroom wall.”

“Heyyy,” Harry protests. “You offered!”

“Baby, I offered because I thought you would start throwing plates at my head if I let you pace around the flat for one minute longer. Anyway, Payno, what are we looking at?”

“We, gentleman, are looking at a potential snow day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Harry says, biting his fingernail. “Yeah, I knew about that.”

“You did? Why didn’t you say anything?” Liam demands. Harry shrugs. “Never mind. Anyway, lads, listen up. Zayn! Take your headphones off.”

Reluctantly, Zayn does as he’s told, and Niall removes his own headphones after a well-placed elbowing from Liam; then, finally, Liam has their full attention.

“We’re looking at a snow day tomorrow,” he repeats. “I need you all to sleep with your pajamas turned inside out, you know the drill.”

“Harry sleeps naked,” Louis says. “So, I don’t think we can do that.”

“Ew,” Zayn says, and Harry giggles.

“Not like you didn’t all already know that though,” he points out.

“Believe me, I’m aware,” Zayn says. “There’s a reason that I always knock on your door now. Don’t want to risk another instance of the Halloween Incident.”

“Can we please talk about something else? You know, besides our sex life,” Louis says, and Harry leans his shoulder into him in thanks for coming to his rescue.

“Yes, thank you,” Liam says. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do with our day off.”

“Um, sleep in?” Zayn says like it’s obvious.

“Maybe I’ll bake something,” Harry says idly.

“Ooh, can you make French toast?” Niall asks without looking away from his phone. “You know, if you’re offering to cook for us.”

“Maybe, Nialler. We’ll see.”

“Anyway, we’re all gonna sleep with our PJs inside out, right?” Liam asks, and there’s a bright smile on his face that Harry can’t imagine tearing away.

“Maybe I’ll even wear clothes tonight just for you,” Harry grins.

“Don’t,” Louis whispers in his ear, and Harry pinches his side in response.

“Are we done here?” Niall asks, rising to his feet. “Have somewhere I need to be.” Without another word, he scurries up the stairs to his bedroom, laughing at his phone once more.

Louis takes a seat on the couch and nudges Liam aside so Harry can sit too. “Let’s watch something else.”

Harry stifles a yawn as he curls up against the side of the couch, listening to Liam and Louis bicker over what to watch on Netflix. It’s the same conversation as always, and nine times out of ten they end up watching reruns of a show they’ve watched at least three times already.

“Harry,” Louis whispers in his ear some time later. “Come on, let's go to bed.”

“Wha’ time issit?” Harry mumbles sleepily, winding a hand around Louis’ neck.

“It’s after midnight, love. You fell asleep ages ago. Come on, let’s go.”

He lets Louis guide him up the stairs, strips off his clothes down to his boxers, and nearly falls asleep again while brushing his teeth.

“Did you put your pants on inside out?” Louis asks him when he joins him in bed. Harry immediately rolls over to his side, soft and warm and smelling like home, and makes a sound that’s supposed to mean _why no, Louis, I did not_ but comes out more like _mneh_. “Harry. Liam’s gonna be so mad.”

“Too tired,” Harry says into Louis’ collarbone. “He doesn't have to know.” He turns in Louis’ arms so that he can be cuddled from behind. The last thing he hears is a quiet whispered “Love you,” and then he falls asleep.

*

“Tommo! Styles! Wake up!”

Harry opens his eyes to Liam standing over him.

“Liam, what are you doing?”

“It’s a snow day, come on, wake up!”

Harry feels Louis twitching behind him, his leg that’s wrapped around Harry’s hip giving a little jerk in his sleep.

“Time s’it?” Harry asks, reaching in vain for his phone on the bedside table but finding he can’t quite get that far with Louis holding onto him. “Lou, let go,” he mumbles. But Louis just clings tighter. “Louis.”

“It’s seven o’clock,” Liam says. “It was confirmed a half hour ago, I just woke up. Can you believe it? I guess the magic trick worked!”

Harry squints up at Liam and realizes that he’s wearing his shirt inside out. Of course he is.

“Well, looks like your trick did indeed work,” he comments for lack of anything else to say; he’d really like to go back to sleep since he apparently doesn’t have class today.

“Liam?” Louis mumbles from behind him, words coming from behind Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Liam asks, smiling brightly.

“I’m thrilled we’ve got a snow day, but please get the fuck out.”

Harry giggles, and Liam mutters a quick “Fine,” before leaving the room.

“You’re so mean,” Harry says as he turns over, Louis’ fringe tickling his face as he presses close.

“Maybe, but I’m tired. No sense in him waking us up if we don’t have anywhere to be today.”

“Mm, true,” Harry says, learning in for a quick closed mouth kiss before pulling back and dropping his head to his own pillow.

“Hey, can you bake scones?”

“Maybe,” Harry says, tracing his hand down Louis’ bare shoulder, his own eyes closing gently. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can we have sex when you wake up?”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

*

When he wakes again, it’s to Louis’ mouth on his cock and two slick fingers inside of him.

“Louis,” he whines, and the feeling of Louis humming against his cock cuts off any further words.

“Morning, babe,” Louis says when he pulls off, lifting his head to grin at Harry. “You ready? Or one more finger?”

“One more,” Harry croaks, and his cock gives a little jerk at the look in Louis’ eyes, fiery and turned on and ravenous. Louis slips in a third finger and Harry winces at the stretch, but that pain is quickly replaced by a different once as Louis sucks a bruise onto Harry’s inner thigh. He swipes his tongue across the mark and then starts on another one just to the side, repeating the action until Harry’s sure he’ll have a line of bruises like a string of gemstones leading the way to his dick.

“Come on, I’m ready,” Harry says, bucking his hips up as Louis crooks his fingers inside him.

Louis must want it as much as Harry does, because for once he doesn’t bother trying to fight it, just surges up to kiss Harry on the lips as he pulls out his fingers. Harry hisses into Louis’ mouth, and then he reaches for the lube.

“Let me,” he says, squeezing some lube onto his palm and then reaching for Louis’ cock. He grips it tightly and jerks twice, enjoying the way Louis groans against his shoulder.

“Harry--” Louis whimpers. “Can you get on with it?”

“Alright, alright, you don’t need to beg,” Harry says with a laugh, swallowing Louis’ complaint with his mouth and releasing the grip on his cock. They both go quiet as Louis presses in, his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair as they twitch against his scalp.

“Fuck, Hazza,” Louis mumbles when his hips lock with Harry’s, and Harry agrees, knows that he wants to do this every day of forever, and Louis hasn’t even started moving yet.

“You can go,” Harry says when Louis has stared at him for just a beat longer than normal. He’s propped up on his elbows and Harry brushes his fringe back, away from his eyes. “Gonna need a haircut soon,” he mumbles, and then wants to smack himself, because only old boring couples talk about mundane household things during sex.

Louis doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Just admiring the view,” he says cheerily, and then he pulls back, his dick nearly slipping completely out, only to thrust back into Harry unexpectedly.

“You want it quick?” he asks breathlessly. “Or d’you want it slow, want me to keep going ‘til you’re crying for it, ‘til you’re begging me to let you come?” He snakes a hand between their bodies and grazes a palm across Harry’s cock, sending a zip of arousal shooting up his spine.

“Fast,” Harry gets out, clawing at Louis’ back. “Hard and fast.”

Tears prick at Harry’s eyes as Louis does as he’s told, the only sounds in the room Louis’ moans and Harry’s little whimpers and the slick slide of their bodies moving together. Harry scrapes his fingernails down Louis’ back and Louis bites at his nipples just how he likes and it’s dirty, just like he wanted it. He loses all comprehension of time, too focused on more important things like Louis, Louis, _Louis_.

Louis gets a hand on Harry’s dick, timing his pulls with his thrusts, and Harry feels himself getting close to the edge, heat building in his spine.

He’s about to warn Louis when Louis runs a hand through Harry’s hair and tugs lightly. “Come, baby, come on, let me hear you,” he says, because of course Louis would know that he’s nearly there. It’s not emotional sex, they aren’t staring into each other’s eyes and laying on beds of rose petals, but he’s still thinking about the fact that Louis knows his body better than anyone else on the entire planet, that he’s the luckiest guy on the planet.

“Lou, love -- love you,” he moans, followed by a bite to his lip to stop the other noises that threaten to spill out. They get enough teasing from their roommates as it is about sex --  no need to add fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, baby, love you too,” Louis promises. “That’s it, right there, I’m so close.”

“Me -- me too,” Harry manages; Louis is angling his chin in such a way that all Harry has to do is lift his head slightly and he can nip at Louis’ jaw, laving over the sweaty skin with his tongue.

“You gotta come, babe,” Louis orders, hand still working over Harry. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and if Harry didn’t know him so well he’d think that he was in pain, but no -- that’s just how he looks when he’s about to come.

Louis pumps his cock again and suddenly Harry feels it, that white hot flash of pleasure, ripping a moan from his throat as sparks to fly behind his closed eyes. He spills onto his stomach as Louis continues to jerk him off, his body tingling with energy.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Louis says, still thrusting, the feeling of him hitting Harry’s prostate again and again almost too much. Harry uses his remaining energy to wrap his legs around Louis’ waist, tilting his hips as he pinches Louis’ nipple. The change in angle does the trick then, because suddenly Louis is kissing Harry as he comes.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. How do you -- you’re always so good, always know what I need,” he babbles, dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder. “It’s always so perfect with you.”

“Magic, I guess,” Harry says with a shrug, brushing Louis’ hair out of his eyes again. “But you -- you do too, you know that, right?”

Louis gives a little happy hum and kisses Harry’s shoulder before pulling out of Harry. It’s a little uncomfortable for a moment but then Louis curls back up against Harry’s side and tangles his fingers in his hair, scratching lightly at Harry’s scalp. He likes being cuddled after sex, likes feeling loved and appreciated, and he knows that Louis feels the same.

“Wanna go back to sleep?” Louis asks after a few minutes of quiet appreciation.

“No, let’s go shower. Promised I’d make you scones, didn’t I?”

“Scones and sex,” Louis says with a smile. “I might keep you after all.”

God bless snow days.

*

“This is such a lazy day,” Liam says from his position on the couch. “We should _do_ something. We haven’t done anything _all day_.”

He’s been throwing a tennis ball into the air and catching it, over and over again, for the better part of the last fifteen minutes. Harry wonders if this is what his mother felt like when he and Gemma were cooped in the house as kids, like she was about to rip their heads off.

“We have been doing something,” Louis offers from across the room.  “It’s you that’s ignoring the film.”

“Watching films all afternoon doesn’t count as doing something. It’s lazy. Let’s go outside or something.”

“I’ll make cookies,” Harry offers, already rising to his feet from the floor. “You can go outside and make a snowman or snow angels, and I’ll make you cookies.”

“Hazza, you don’t have to,” Louis says, giving him a look that says _Let Liam figure himself out, you’re okay_. “You already made scones, that was enough.”

“No, cookies sound good,” Niall disagrees, pausing the movie. “I’ll help you, Harry.”

Last time Niall tried to help Harry bake, he ended up eating half the cookie dough and they’d had to make a whole new batch. It was good fun though, which Harry supposes is the whole point. “Yeah, alright.”

“Yes to cookies,” Liam says. “Come on Zayn, Lou, let’s go. I’ll get my shoes.”

“Can we do the snowflakes? With frosting?” Niall asks.

“And the stars please!” Liam says from his room, followed by a big crash that sounds uncannily like things falling out of his closet. “I’m okay! Just trying to find my boots.”

“Sure,” Harry says indulgently.

Within half an hour, the cookies are frosted and cooling and Harry’s talking to Louis about what they can eat for dinner. He’s also wondering idly if he should get started on his psychology homework when Niall comes running into the kitchen.

“Come on, Jesy just texted me, we’re going to their place for a party.”

“Niall, it’s seven p.m. Bit early for a party, isn’t it?”

Niall actually rolls his eyes. “Well not _now_ , Harold. Tonight. Come on, we gotta go get booze.”

“But we have school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Neil, we have class.”

Niall turns to Louis, who’s been lounging at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, one foot pulled up onto the chair. He’s wearing an Adidas jumper and a pair of Harry’s sweatpants that he stole nearly two years ago. Cozy is a good look on him.

“You,” Niall orders with one finger turned to Louis in stern warning, “need to stop calling me that. Annoys the hell out of me.”

“That’s why I do it, see?” Louis says, giving Niall a cheeky smirk. Harry giggles.

“Anyway, we don’t have class. We’ve got another snow day.”

“Really?” Harry asks at the same time as Louis. They lock eyes and laugh.

“You two are so fucking weird. Anyway, yes, no school tomorrow, so we’re having a party next door. Problem is that I need someone to go get booze. And someone to make the jello shots with me.”

“I call jello shots!” Louis says, sticking his tongue out at Harry. “Ha ha, you have to go outside.”

Harry glares at him. “No, we have enough, don’t we? What about that 12-pack you bought last week?”

“Drank it all, didn’t we? Besides, we‘re gonna need way more than a 12-pack for this party. Come on, get your shoes on, Zayn says he’ll go with you.”

“Can we take your car?”

“No, it’s not safe to drive, you can walk.”

“Niall, if it’s not safe to drive what the hell makes you think it’s gonna be alright for us to walk? It has to be at _least_ a half a mile there and back.”

Harry tries to level Niall with a sharp look, but Niall just shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. If no one’s on the roads then you’re not at risk of being hit. Zayn’s ready to go whenever you are.”

Louis stands up and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, his fingers warm from his mug. “Have fun, baby. Next time you should speak up quicker, then you’d be getting to stay inside and make jello shots.”

Harry values his relationship, so he doesn’t point out that even if Niall had chosen Louis to go to the liquor store, he would’ve ended up convincing Harry to go anyway.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes and giving Louis a quick kiss. “If we don’t come back in the next two hours, send out a search party.”

“Excellent cookies, Hazza!” Niall yells as Harry leaves the room to go put on his shoes.

“Shut it, Horan.”

*

Snow falls down around them, clinging to Harry’s jacket and to his hair.

“Z, look,” he says, trying to angle his mouth to blow a snowflake off the tip of his nose. It doesn’t work.

“Keep trying, mate,” Zayn says with a laugh.

They’re in the middle of the street, which was apparently plowed earlier in the day but is now covered in snow again. They’ve only passed three other humans, all of them college students; Harry wonders if this is what the apocalypse will be like, just complete and utter desolation. He and Zayn are both shivering, trying to walk as quickly as they can to get to the store as fast as possible.

“Hey, how’re things with Tommo?” Zayn asks suddenly.

“They’re… he’s good, thanks,” Harry says, a little bit suspicious. “Why? You see him every day.”

“Yeah, but like, you two live in each others’ pockets. I thought you might have a better idea of how he’s really doing than I do.”

“He’s alright,” Harry admits. “A bit stressed about the future, but we’re working on it. He actually met with his advisor last week, and she told him to start making a list of his past employers, so he can talk to them and see if that gives him any ideas.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I mean, it’s tough on both of us, yeah?” Harry says as they turn right and cross the subway tracks. “It’d be much easier if he’d just stuck with social work, but if he isn’t happy with that anymore we’ll find something else.”

Zayn’s quiet, but Harry can tell he’s listening as he keeps talking.

“But Lou...Lou will be fine. I’m not so worried anymore.”

“But you were before?” Zayn asks as they approach the small brick building that houses every BU student’s favorite liquor store.

“Yeah, I was worried he was gonna change his mind,” Harry says quietly as he opens the door to let Zayn inside first. “Not just about his major, either.” When Zayn understands, his eyes go wide.

“But you’re Louis and Harry,” he argues, sounding absolutely flabbergasted. “You’re supposed to be together.”

“Yeah, but there’s always a risk that he finds someone better, or decides he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“What?” Zayn hisses. “Are you serious?”

They separate to go down different aisles, but Zayn pokes his head over the top and continues to ask what Harry’s talking about.

“I dunno,” Harry says with a shrug, picking up a handle of raspberry vodka. He thought he’d talked about this with Zayn, but maybe not. “I just got worried for a bit. Thought maybe he wanted something different.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I wish you could see how he feels about you. The rest of us know that’s never gonna happen.”

“Well I know that _now,_ ” Harry says. “It just took a bit of a freakout and a long fight for me to realize it.”

It doesn’t take long for them to find what they need; they’ve both traversed the aisles of this liquor store more times than they’d like to admit. A few minutes later, backpacks weighed down with clinking beer bottles, they’re back on the road.

“So, you and Lou,” Zayn says once they’re safely outside. “How did you know you were in love with him?”

A blush rises to Harry’s cheeks and this time it’s not from the cold. “Z, you’ve heard this story a million times before. I loved him ages before we got together.”

Zayn makes an impatient sound, so Harry elaborates. “When I realized that I care more about his feelings than I did my own. When I wanted him to be the first to know everything that happened to me. When I kissed him and it was just a dare but it just felt like everything was finally, finally coming together.”

“So it was, like. Romantic?” Zayn asks, and there’s a surprising kind of eagerness in his voice. Like he’s not just asking all of this to get ammunition to poke fun at Harry later. Like he really wants to know.

“It was,” he says. “Most of the time, but not always. He’s my best friend, you know?” He shrugs. “Sometimes he annoys the hell out of me. I always _love_ him, but it’s not always romantic.”

“So it’s worth it, you think? Love, I mean,” Zayn says, expression serious.

 _Is it worth it?_ Harry thinks. He thinks of how Louis looks when he’s just woken up, all sleepy and soft. How lovely and earnest Louis is when he does something nice for Harry, like helping him with exams or coming up with good Christmas present ideas. How he got a fucking tattoo that matched Harry’s, just because he wanted to show their love to the world. How over and over again, they keep choosing each other, against all the odds.

“Always, always, always,” Harry says finally. “Even when it’s hard, it’s worth it. Always.”

“Hmm,” says Zayn, a quiet thinking noise, and they don’t talk for the rest of the walk back.

*

“Harry, you okay?”

Harry’s dancing with Liam, one arm wrapped loosely around his neck as they both sway to the beat of the music that fills the apartment’s tiny living room, and he doesn’t notice that Louis is behind him until he feels a gentle hand on his waist. Liam seems to realize he’s there at the same time Harry does, because he releases his grip on Harry and takes another sip of beer.

“Tommo, thank god. Here, take Harry, he’s very drunk.”

“I am not!” Harry whines. Louis raises an eyebrow and does that _I don’t believe you one bit_ smirk. “I’m not, I swear it.”  

“Harry, you you tripped over a chair, fell to the ground, and then yelled ‘I’m okay! Anyone want a beer?'” Liam says loudly.

“Which is how you ended up with the drink you’re holding!” Harry protests.

“You do seem a bit...unwell,” Louis says.

Harry turns back to Liam, brows furrowed. “See, this is why I told you not to find Lou earlier. All he does is make fun of me.”

“Were you singing _You Can’t Stop the Beat_ again?” Louis asks. Harry pouts and nods his head once, already knowing he’s going to be mocked. “Well then, yes, you totally deserve to be made fun of.”

“It’s a good song! Anyway, Lou, let’s go get a drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” he laughs. “D’you wanna go home?”

“I”m having another, we’re staying.” Before Louis can stop him, Harry scurries away to the kitchen, intent on pouring himself another drink. He gets distracted halfway to the kitchen because he spots Niall trying to build a human pyramid, and obviously he’s going to get involved in that.

He gets stuck on the bottom row, so he decides to complain to make up for it.“My back hurts,” he manages to say with the weight of both Perrie and Zayn on top of him. “I’m not cut out to be on the bottom--”

“Gonna have to stop you there, Harry,” Niall interrupts, “before you turn it into a joke about your sex life that none of us need to hear.”

Zayn starts laughing and the pyramid comes crashing down “Well, nice attempt, folks,” Niall says, and then moves onto the next thing.

“Wanna go make snow angels?” Harry asks Zayn, who’s laying on the ground next to him, clutching the elbow he whacked on the fall down. “Let’s go!”

He makes it halfway out the door before he feels something pulling him back by the neck -- it’s Louis, holding him by the collar of the jacket he’d hastily thrown on in a moment of awareness. “What are you doing?”

“Making snow angels,” Harry says. “Obviously.”

“No, no, it’s too cold for that, stay inside.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Harry says with a pout. He likes when Louis tells him what to do, but mostly only in bed. Not now, when he wants to go outside and play in the snow. “It’ll be fun, let’s go make a snow angel. We can go kiss in the snow,” he adds hopefully, giving Louis his best puppy dog face.

“Hazza,” Louis says, stepping closer and tucking a finger into Harry’s belt loop on his jeans. “We can kiss inside where it’s warm, yeah? Let me get you another drink. Did I tell you how good you look tonight?”

“Tell me again,” Harry says quietly as Louis mouths at his neck, dragging over the skin with his teeth. They’re in the middle of Perrie’s entryway, but it’s not like that’s ever stopped them before.

“You look hot. Can’t wait to take you home.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised. “Me too. But later -- right now, we need more to drink.”

One beer turns into two which turns into three; they’re seated on the couch, Louis sitting on his lap and the two of them passing a bottle back and forth. It takes Harry an embarrassingly long time to realize that he allowed himself be to distracted from his snow angel mission. Goddamn Louis and his stupid, pretty eyelashes, but at least he’s supplying Harry with alcohol and by the time Louis asks if he’s ready to go, he realizes that he is very, very drunk.

“Let’s get you home and into bed,” Louis suggests.

“But the party’s still going, people are still having fun. I wanna stay.”

“Please, Harry? I’m tired.”

“Can we still have sex though?” Harry asks, and Louis shushes him, chuckling.

“Hazza, you don’t have to yell, I’m right next to you. But yeah, we’ll see.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t come home for a bit?” Niall calls from his seat on the floor.

“Shut up, Niall,” Harry says, and that gets Niall laughing again.

“Baby, here’s your coat. Put it on so we can go.”

“Where Zayn?” Harry asks as Louis is guiding him to the door, a hand on his lower back to push him along. “And Liam? I wanna give them a hug. I need to tell them I love them, I love them so much, they’re both so nice and handsome, aren’t they? Aren’t they really handsome, Lou?”

“Yes, they are very handsome. And they’re probably at home,” Louis says, his voice soft. “Come on.”

Harry doesn’t remember the short walk home or getting into the house, so next thing he knows, he’s sitting on top of the covers in bed, his shoes and jeans off, left just in his boxers and t-shirt. He’s finishing the water bottle Louis handed him, thinking sluggishly how glad he is that Louis always, always takes care of him.

“We’re still gonna have sex, right?” Harry asks as he watches Louis strip. He is so handsome, Harry sort of can’t believe that Louis is his. “Come on, pleaaase,” he whines when Louis doesn’t answer.

“Are you sure you’re not too drunk?” Louis asks, crawling across the bed to slide in next to Harry. He’s unfair, teasing Harry like this, looking like sin personified on his hands and knees.

“‘M not drunk at all, I’m fine.”

“Baby, I think you are,” Louis says, and he’s giggling.

“Am not,” Harry says, pulling Louis close for a kiss. “Pleaaaase, it’s been like a whole day since we had sex. Plus you _promised_ , I remember.”

“We had sex this morning!”

“Oh, right. Still!”

“Can you even get it up?”

“Yes, obviously!” Harry says, and Louis shushes him, reminding him that the others are sleeping. Despite his own warnings, he keeps chuckling at Harry. “Honestly, stop laughin’ at me, I don’t get why it’s so funny.”

“Okay, fine,” Louis says, a smirk on his face, “if you can get it up, we’ll have sex.”

Harry nods and kisses him long and hard, rolling on top of him to grind against him, and… nothing. “Maybe it just needs to wake up,” Harry says, and then Louis is full-on giggling, pressing his forehead into Harry’s shoulder so he can feel Louis’ laughter shaking his body.

“Stop making fun of me,” Harry says with a pout, bringing a hand between their bodies to slip a hand into his own boxers. He gives his cock a few tugs and even with Louis’ perfect mouth just inches away and Harry’s overactive brain working at full speed to conjure as many sexy images as it can, nothing happens.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Louis says, but he’s still fucking _giggling_.

“Stop,” Harry says grumpily. Louis should only be laughing at him when he tells stupid jokes, not when he can’t get hard. “Stop making fun of me just cause I wanna have sex with you. And stop being cute when you’re laughing at me, I don’t like it. It’s not nice. ”

“That’s not why I’m laughing, babe. Come on, stop pouting, I love you,” he says, bringing his thumb up to trace Harry’s lips. “It’s alright, we can do it tomorrow. Don’t be sad, please.”

“D’you want me to suck you off?” Harry asks, leaning forward to kiss Louis. He closes his eyes and his lips are just ghosting over Louis’ when he feels the bed start to spin. “Uh oh.”

“What is it, Haz?” Louis asks, sitting up gently. He pushes Harry backwards in the process, and that makes him feel even more disoriented.

“Why is the bed moving, Lou? I feel like we’re rocking on the ocean.”

This time he doesn’t laugh, thank God. “S’okay, baby, lay down. Keep your eyes open. You’ve just got the spins, you’re fine.”

“What if I throw up?” Harry asks; he _hates_ throwing up.

“If you throw up I’ll be here, don’t worry. Breathe for me, baby, slowly, through your nose. I’ve got you.”

Harry lays down and feels like the bed is slowly being rocked back and forth, like a giant cradle. God, he and Louis should really have a baby one day. Not like, _soon_ , but soon enough, when they’re older and married and like, _responsible_. The thought of that isn’t doing much to help with his steady breathing.

“Lou,” he says frantically, because now that the thought is there he needs to discuss it _right now_. “We should have a baby, I want to see you be someone’s dad, I want to have a baby with you. We should do it.”

Louis smiles, and it’s a little blinding. “Yeah, Hazza, me too. We will one day, I promise. But not tonight, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“I fucking hate alcohol,” Harry grumbles, turning to face Louis more fully. He looks so serious all of a sudden, and Harry might hate alcohol right now but he totally doesn’t hate the way that Louis is playing with his hair, running his fingers through it and tracing his face with soft fingertips, whispering nice things in his ear.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Louis repeats. “Go to sleep, I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Promise?” Harry asks, words slow and whispered as he grabs Louis’ hand.

Louis squeezes his hand three times in quick succession. “Promise.”

*

Niall sits at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of him on the table while the others crowd around him, watching the screen over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Niall breathes. “I’m gonna book it, yeah?”

“Book it,” Zayn confirms, and so Niall clicks the button.

It’s official: they’re going on spring break.

*

Crossing the finish line of his first half marathon is a better high than Harry’s ever felt in his life. The months of training, early morning wake-ups that made him hate both Liam and his alarm, squeezing in time on the treadmill, stretching his sore muscles; it’s all worth it when he’s handed the medal and asked to pose for a picture. He did it, he and Liam _actually_ did it.

“Can’t believe it, mate,” Liam says, hugging Harry tightly. “Thanks for letting me rope you into this, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I might not hate you as much now that I have the medal,” Harry answers, holding it up to examine it. It’s a nice golden reminder of how hard he worked for this; in the face of all the stress this year has brought, running has been his saving grace. Nothing can take that away. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel as good as he does in this moment, rounding the corner with Liam in search of the food tent, where he sees--

Louis, standing just beyond the fence blocking the spectators from the participants, holding the massive sign he’d made in secret last night,  _“YOU CAN DO IT, BABYCAKES!!!!”_. The poster board is covered in glitter just like he’d promised all those months ago. His smile is as bright as the sun.

Distantly, Harry is aware of Liam going to get a hug from Zayn and Niall and a few other friends who’ve come to cheer on the two of them, but as usual, he only has eyes for Louis.

“Hi, baby,” he says when Harry approaches, finally drawing him in for the kiss he’s been thinking about for two hours. As their lips connect, Harry thinks he could scratch what he said earlier, because _this_ is the best feeling in the world. “I’m so proud of you. So, so fucking proud. You did it!”

“I know,” Harry says, going a little woozy as Louis cups his face in his hands to kiss him again. “Can’t believe it.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Harry says immediately. “I mean… really sore, but. Fuck, I don’t know Lou, I did it.”

“You did it, baby. You did it so, so well. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry says, leaning in to rest his face against Louis’ shoulder. Louis rubs his back soothingly, and Harry suddenly wants nothing more than a shower,  a change of clothes, and the world’s longest nap. “Sorry, I got some sweat on you. And -- whoops, I crushed the sign.”

“S’okay,” Louis says. “Why don’t we get you some water and a bagel and get you home? Got a surprise for you.” He waggles his eyebrows , which immediately gets Harry’s attention.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so let’s hurry up and get you in the shower. Not gonna give you the surprise when you stink like you do now,” he says, wrinkling his nose, and Harry laughs. Everything hurts and his right ankle is a little sore, but he knows Louis’ got him no matter what.

An hour later, he steps out of the shower, muscles feeling both better and worse; the hot water soothed his stiffness, but coming down from the adrenaline high of the race, he can officially feel every twinge of muscle, every achy body part.

He wraps a towel around his waist and hobbles to his room, where he finds two towels laid down on the sheets, the covers bunched at the end of the bed, and Louis standing nearby with a bright smile. Harry face pinches in confusion.

“I’m gonna give you a massage,” Louis explains. “Go on, lie down.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Lou, if this is a sex thing, can we wait a few hours? Everything hurts and I’m honestly too sore to--”

“It’s not a sex thing,” Louis interrupts. “It’s just me doing something nice for you. Because you deserve it.”

“Do you even know how to give a massage?” Harry asks, dropping his towel to the floor and lying down on his stomach, head on the pillow. He could cry at how good it feels to just lie down.

“I googled it,” Louis says with a shrug, and there’s the sound of a bottle opening, some kind of massage oil. Harry looks over his shoulder to see Louis blatantly ogling his body and he feels strangely vulnerable; they’ve never done this before. The only times he’s ever been in this position, it’s been for sex.

“Alright, pal, head on the pillow. Just relax.”

Harry does as he’s told and seconds later he feels Louis’ hands grasping one calf, running down the muscle and back up. He moans a little bit; five seconds in and it already feels _so_ good.

“You like that?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. “Shit, I’m sorry, I swore I wouldn’t make it dirty, I didn’t mean--”

“S’okay,” Harry mumbles, eyes closed as he presses his cheek into the pillow. “Keep doing that and you might get lucky after all.”

*

Louis leans against the bookshelf and turns the page, lips just beginning to form the next word when Harry interrupts him.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he says through a laugh, clutching at a stitch that’s forming in his side. “My stomach hurts. You win.”

Louis closes the hardcover book and slips it primly back onto the shelf. “So you admit that pretentious American writers deserve to be knocked down a few pegs?”

“Shut up,” Harry says wiping tears of laughter from his eyes and taking a step closer, “and buy me the book I want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes, even as his hand is extending to cup Harry’s chin to move in for a kiss. “I guess I have to, right? You know, make up birthday and all.” He looks a little sorry as he says it, like he’s still apologizing for the mess that was Harry’s actual birthday.

“You’ve been perfect,” Harry says quietly when he pulls away. “Absolutely perfect. I don’t know what I would do without--”

“Alright, alright,” Louis says, twisting out of his hold and tugging a paperback book of poetry out of Harry’s hand. “Save the sappy shit for later, I don’t want to cry in public. ”

When they leave the bookstore, Harry slips his gloved hand into Louis’ as they make their way down a busy sidewalk. “What next?” Harry asks, and Louis smiles.

“You fancy Italian? Was thinking the North End for dinner, I made a reservation at that place we went to two years ago.”

“The place with the really good garlic bread and the waiter who gave you his number?” Louis nods. “Fuck yes, let’s go.”

They’re seated at a table by the window, which is perfect because Harry likes to people-watch and spin stories about everyone he sees.

“Okay,” he starts immediately, “so I think that couple right there has been dating for five years, and he wants to get married but she’s not into it. She should just break up with him. No point being stuck in a relationship you hate.”

“Whoa, getting awfully deep for a make believe game there, Hazza,” Louis says, looking over at Harry with a wry smile. “Did you pick what you want to order?”

Harry nods and closes his menu, and once the food has been ordered they stare at each other for a couple seconds before Louis speaks.

“I’m sorry again about your birthday, Harry,” Louis says, gripping Harry’s hand on the tabletop. “I fucked up and I got mad and I never wanted to ruin your day like that. I hope that today has at least made up for it a little bit.”

“Like I said earlier, Lou, it’s been perfect.”

It really has. Harry had woken up with Louis pressing kisses to his jaw, and the day had unfolded from there, sleepy morning sex in bed and then another round in the shower, breakfast and the movies and then Louis indulging him at the bookstore where he looked around for nearly an hour.

“We should skip class more often,” Louis says. “I could get used to this.”

“Well, in a few months we won’t have school at all,” Harry points out. Louis’ face sobers up.

“Hard to believe, innit? Who would’ve ever thought we’d be here?”

“I did,” Harry says. “Always thought we’d make it eventually.”

“Don’t get sappy yet, Styles. I’ve got plenty I want to say to you when we get home.” Harry grins, and he wonders if it’ll always be like this: the two of them desperately in love with each other against all the odds.

“What makes you think I’m gonna go home with you?”

“Ah, well I have a present for you at home, and I happen to you know you love presents.”

“If it doesn’t include your dick I’m genuinely not interested,” Harry says, and Louis chokes on his wine. Harry turns to see the waitress standing just behind him, two plates of food in her hand and her eyes wide. Louis kicks Harry’s foot, then grins when Harry gives him a look that says _fuck off_.

Harry is silent until the waitress disappears, and then he throws his hands over his face in embarrassment. “I can’t stand you.”

“You love me and you love my dick and you don’t care who knows it,” Louis says, digging into his food.

“Don’t say that _word_ ,” Harry hisses. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle as he throws his head back and laughs.

They’ve ordered dessert and are halfway through a second bottle of wine, Harry’s cheeks flushed with happiness and alcohol, when Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box.

A small, black box.

Harry’s eyes widen and he feels his breath catch in his throat as Louis slides the box across the table toward him. There’s no way -- he’s not -- they said they’d _talk_ about it --

“Lou, is this--” he starts at the same time that Louis says, “Happy birthday, Harry.”

Harry laughs and finds he can breathe again, and Louis’ eyes go wide.

“Did you think I was -- oh Haz, sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It’s not a ring. I mean, yes it’s a ring, but it’s not a _ring_ ring, that one is coming later.”

 _Later_ , Harry thinks, bouncing the word around in his mind. This isn’t an engagement ring, but there _is_ gonna be one one day.

He opens the box and there’s a gleaming silver ring inside, inlaid with three square turquoise stones. It’s gorgeous, exactly Harry’s style, something unique and precious that must have taken Louis ages to find.

“How did you--”

“Don’t worry about it, Louis says, beaming at him. “I hope you like it.”

“I love it,” Harry says, staring down at it. “Can you put it on for me?”

Louis nods and takes the ring out of the box. He gently takes Harry’s left hand in his own, and very slowly slides the ring onto his bare index finger. Harry shivers at the touch of cold metal, eyes flitting between the movement of the ring and the concentration on Louis’ face.

“Happy 22-years-and-one-month birthday, Harry Styles,” Louis says quietly. “Thank you for making me yours. I love you.”

*

“Hey Zayn,” Harry calls from the kitchen, but there’s no answer. “Zayn?”

He’s working on a lesson plan for his first graders and trying to figure out the best way to explain a certain concept to small kids. He’d normally ask Louis, but Louis is at the gym. Zayn will do, though; he’s got sisters and he’s good with kids.

He gets up and walks over to Zayn’s bedroom door, knocking lightly. “Zayn, can I come in? Just have a question for you.”

There’s no answer; he’s probably got his headphones in while he does homework. Harry pushes the door open slowly.

“Zayn?”

The room is dark, but he can just about make out Zayn’s head over the top of the blankets, still sleeping soundly.

“Zayn, so sorry to wake you, but I just have a quick question,” he whispers, putting a gentle hand on his bare shoulder.

“Wha-- wha-- what time ‘sit?” Zayn slurs, flicking on his bedside lamp, and then suddenly another head pops out from the blankets.

Liam.

He’s also shirtless, and there’s a string of love bites along his collarbones like a purple necklace.

Harry screams, a loud, surprised shriek, his hands clutching his chest. “What the _fuck_?”

“Harry,” Liam interrupts desperately, “Harry, it’s not --”

“Liam,” Zayn says. “Don’t.”

“I’m just gonna...I’m gonna go...living room,” Harry gets out, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. He stumbles into the hallway in a daze, and Louis chooses that moment to burst through the front door.

“Hi, baby,” he says, flicking his sweaty fringe out of his eyes as he kicks off his sneakers. “What’s wrong? You look a bit ill.”

“Zayn...Liam...naked.” Harry feels like a caveman, his brain wiped completely blank from what he just witnessed. He takes a seat on the edge of the couch and stares straight ahead, barely noticing as Louis sits next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Baby, what are you trying to say?”

Zayn comes stumbling into the living room, buttoning his shirt as he goes, and Liam’s just behind him, his basketball shorts very clearly on inside out. “Harry, wait, I can explain,” Zayn says hurriedly.

“Explain what?” Louis asks. “What the _hell_ is going on? Harry?”

“Harry, please,” Liam begs.

“I,” Harry mumbles dazedly. “They.”

“God, I feel like I’m talking to Lassie,” Louis grumbles. “Speak, boy! What’s going on?”

“Hey guys,” Niall greets them as he comes down the stairs, blissfully unaware of the way Liam and Zayn both stiffen, like the appearance of all their best friends in the same room is like their worst nightmares coming to life.

The sheer panic on their faces makes Harry choke out a laugh, which in turn makes Niall jump in surprise, finally glancing around and clueing into the fact that everything is not fine and dandy.

“Okay, someone has _got_ to explain what’s going on here,” Louis insists, “because Harry looks like he’s seen a ghost and the two of you aren’t really wearing clothes. Hi, Niall.”

“Mornin’, Lou,” Niall says, then goes back to staring intently at Liam, waiting for an explanation.

“Erm, well,” Zayn starts awkwardly. “See, the thing is--”

“Me and Zayn, we--” Liam cuts over him, bumbling his words as well. “What is happening is that--”

Finally, a word forms itself in Harry’s mouth. Unfortunately, the word is, “Sex!” and he yells it, loudly, startling everyone in the room once more.

“Uh,” Louis says, bemused. “A little busy, dear. Maybe later.”

But then Niall gasps, pointing wildly from Harry to Liam’s bruised-dotted chest to Zayn’s half-buttoned shirt. “Sex!” he echoes, like a war cry.

“Sex!” Harry agrees. “ _Sex!_ ”

Then Louis gets it too, the answer smacking him so visibly that he stumbles back a little. “Sex!” he cries, following Niall’s lead and pointing at the guilty parties.

Zayn drops his head into his hands as Liam exhales slowly. “Sex,” he confirms gravely.

A moment of shocked silence, then --

“Are you _serious_?” Niall shouts, face red from all the excitement.

“When?” Louis demands. “How long?”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ us?” Harry asks.

“How did we not notice?”

“Why would you hide something like that from us?”

“When were you planning to let us know?”

“ _Were_ you planning on letting us know?”

“Lads, lads,” Liam says weakly, holding his hand up to stop the flow of interrogation. “I guess we’ll…” he looks to Zayn, clearly struggling with his next words.

“You’d better tell us everything, or so help me--” Niall threatens, looking about as harmless as possible with his bedhead and mismatched socks. Still, Zayn gulps like he’s facing an executioner.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn sighs.

Louis thumps onto the couch next to Harry as though surprise has made his legs turn to jelly, and Niall crosses his arms like a stern parent as he takes a seat on Harry’s other side.

“Alright, explain,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around Louis.

“I’m not sure how to where to start,” Zayn admits.

“The beginning, maybe,” says Louis, brokering no argument.

“Right,” Zayn says, running his hands through his hair. “Right. So. I guess it was, what, six weeks ago? Me and Liam were here alone, and we just... kissed?”

There’s another quick bout of silence. “That’s it?” Harry asks blankly. “You were alone, and you kissed?”

“I’m with Harry, that’s not gonna cut it,” Niall agrees. “Details, people!”

“The first time was just supposed to be like, a joke,” Liam says, and Zayn winces. Liam rushes to correct himself. “Well not, like, a _joke_ , but I didn’t think it _meant_ anything. I was lonely and -- and upset and... I missed feeling wanted. We hooked up and,” his cheeks go pink, and he studiously avoids Zayn’s eye, “it was _good,_ like, _really_ good, and then it happened again, and then it just became... a thing.”

“I didn’t even know you liked guys, Liam,” Harry says, weirdly hurt that he didn’t tell him before this. He’d had his _oh my god I like boys_ moment long before meeting Liam, but if they’d known each other then he _totally_ would’ve shared that information.

“Neither did I, not really. I always just liked girls, I guess, but like…” Liam breaks off with a laugh. “I dunno. But we kept hooking up, and suddenly it was more than just a sex thing, there were… feelings.”

“Suddenly?” Zayn says, and he and Liam share a quick, secret smile.

“Alright, fine,” Liam laughs, “for some the feelings have been there for a long time and for others, it took a little longer to catch up.”

“A long time,” Louis repeats. “Like how long?”

“Since the beginning of freshman year?” Zayn says, voice hesitant so it comes out like a question. Harry feels his jaw drop. “I know, I know, I kept it pretty well hidden.”

Suddenly, a flash of memory comes to Harry. “Oh my _God_. When you were asking me about love the other week, it wasn’t about me and Lou at all. It was you and _Liam_. Oh my God, I can’t believe I missed this--”

Zayn flushes bright red and scratches awkwardly his face. “Um, can you not...”

“So you two are, dating, right?” Niall asks, and they nod in answer.

“This isn’t how we expected to tell you lads at all,” Zayn admits. “We didn’t think it was going to be a thing and then it _became_ a thing and it just got too weird to mention because it had been so long.”

“Well, congratulations,” Harry says sincerely.

“Yeah, mates,” Niall agrees. “It’s a bit of a shock, but a good one.”

“Just a PSA, boys, we really don’t need to know about your sex life,” Louis adds sternly.

“You and Harry have no room to talk,” Liam grumbles, while Zayn wraps Louis in a hug.

“So, you and Liam,” Harry says as he stands to give Zayn a hug as well.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, back to his succinct ways. “Me and Liam.” But he says it with a grin, like he can’t quite believe it.

Harry can’t quite believe it either but he feels like, in a way, they fit. Not like how he and Louis fit, but in a different way. Something new.

*

“Hey, babe,” Harry says, looking up from his book when Louis comes into the room. “How was your meeting?”

“Horrible,” Louis says with a frown, dropping his backpack to their bedroom floor and crawling into bed next to Harry. “She wants me to go and talk to all these people on campus and see if they have any ideas for me and I just don’t want to.”

“You have to, though,” Harry says, pushing Louis’ fringe away from his face. Louis settles his chin on Harry’s chest, wrapping his arms around him as best he can.

“I know,” Louis grumbles, and Harry leans down to press his lips to the top of his head.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Harry’s wondering if he can pick up his book again when Louis speaks.

“Do you think I’m crazy for doing this?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry says, and then he loosens his hold on Louis so they can sit up and face each other. “Not a bit.”

“But you don’t like it.”

Harry hesitates, trying to figure out the best way to convey what he’s feeling. “I don’t like that you’re stressed about this,” he finally says. “I wish I could make it easier for you. But I still like _you_.”

“You don’t resent it?”

“Lou, no. Why would you think that?”

“I dunno,” Louis admits. “Just feels like it’d be easy for you to be annoyed with all this back and forth.”

“I’m gonna be by your side no matter what,” Harry promises, and he feels a fierce sense of protectiveness rise up sharply within him. “I want to do whatever I can to help you, okay?”

“How am I supposed to figure out what I want to do?” he asks. “I studied something I loved and now I don’t love it anymore. It feels like everyone else has at least an _idea_ of what they want, and they all think I’m an idiot for wanting to start over.”

Louis looks up at him and his lower lip wobbles.

“They don’t, Lou, they don’t,” Harry says, wiping the first tears from Louis’ cheeks.

“It feels like it. And I have _no_ clue what I want, it’s _paralyzing_. It’s so scary to wake up every day and realize that in a few months I’m going to have no job and no idea what I want my future to look like.” Louis takes a deep breath, but Harry can tell he’s on the verge of losing it.

“You’ll have a degree,” Harry offers.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “A degree I don’t want. It’s like... I can’t move anywhere with you until I get a job and I can’t get a job until I figure out what I want to do and I just feel _stuck_.”

“Lou...” Harry murmurs sympathetically, and he wraps his arms around Louis as he starts to sob. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says quietly into his hair. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

“I’m scared we won’t,” Louis admits. “I want to graduate and build a life with you but I don’t want to do it when I’m like this.”

“Like what, Lou?”

“A mess.”

Harry’s heart twists sharply at the pain in Louis’ voice. “You’re not a mess. Look at me.” He puts two fingers under Louis’ chin to force him to look up. “You, Louis Tomlinson, are not a mess. This is normal. It’s stressful and scary but you are not a mess.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just stares at a spot on the wall behind Harry.

“Louis. You’re not a mess, you’re just a regular college senior,” Harry says. He doesn’t know if any of this is getting through, but damn if he’s not going to keep trying. “You just have to pick something you might like to do for a little while and give it a shot. It’s not forever. You don’t like it, you pick something else.”

Harry places a hand on Louis’ cheek and smiles when he leans into the contact.

“The only thing that’s forever is me and you, alright? Everything else you can figure out as we go.”

Louis nods and wipes tears away from his face.

“Alright.”

*

 _“Lou, Lou, look!” Harry says, starfished in the middle of an empty bed. “This is_ our _bed. Our bed, me and you, our_ bed _. We share a bed!”_

_“I know,” Louis says, smirking as he tosses a sheet on top of him. “I went to the shop with you to pick it out. Don’t you remember? It took hours. You wouldn’t stop until we’d tried every single mattress.”_

_“Yeah, I know, but like, it’s our bed. Me and you.” Louis flings another sheet over to him. “Because we live together now.”_

_“We do,” Louis says, and he can’t hide his grin._

_A pillowcase gets tossed in the air to join the sheets, and Harry pulls it off his face so he can see Louis once more._

_“Come on, get up and help me make the bed,” Louis says, tugging at Harry’s bare foot. “Then we can take a nap if you want to.”_

_“What if I don’t want to nap?” Harry says, looking up at Louis with a smirk. “What if I want to put the bed to some other good use?”_

_“You want to jump up and down and see if you can hit the ceiling with your head, don’t you?” Louis says, giving up and balling up the sheets at the end of the bed, then crawling to Harry on hands and knees._

_“Try again,” Harry says with a grin, just as Louis’ lips make contact with his own. “That’s more like it.”_

_“Can’t believe we_ live _together now,” Louis says happily. “Hope you don’t get sick of me, cause I’m not planning on leaving you alone too much.”_

_“Me either, not if we can do this every day,” Harry murmurs as Louis runs his hand up Harry’s shirt and pinches his nipple._

_“It_ has _been awhile since we did this,” Louis comments, and Harry squirms under his touch._

 _“We did it yesterday,” Harry points out, sneaking his hand into the front of Louis’ jeans. Louis had flown back to the U.S. and stayed with Harry’s family for four days; they’re still on the reunion high that unfortunately has become the norm for them. Harry doesn’t feel that bad about it though; not when it includes a lot of_ I missed you so much _sex._

_“Yeah,” Louis says, pulling at the hem of Harry’s shirt to push it up to his armpits, “but not like how I wanted. Want to fuck you,” he says, and Harry shivers at the desire in his tone._

_He’s just about to drop a kiss to Louis’ jaw when there’s a loud crash from downstairs, and then loud shouting, indistinguishable but definitely angry._

_“What the fuck was that?” Louis asks, dropping all his weight on top of Harry in surprise. Harry lets out a little “oof” sound, and Louis shifts a bit._

_“I don’t know. We should probably go check,” Harry says, a worried expression crossing his face._

_Louis groans and then nods, rolling off Harry and getting to his feet._

_When they get to the kitchen, they find Liam and Niall arguing, the kitchen table between them._

_“Why did you drop it?” Niall asks, clutching his foot as he hops around on one leg. “This really fucking hurts!”_

_“You were holding less weight and it got too heavy for me!” Liam argues. “Besides, we’re not gonna put it over there. It’ll block the fridge. That’s stupid.”_

_Harry goes over to Niall’s side to check on his foot. “Take a seat,” he says, guiding him to a chair. “We’ve been here two hours and you’re already getting hurt.”_

_“Why didn’t you ask us for help?” Louis asks, frowning._

_“Seemed quicker to do it ourselves,” Liam said. “Besides, who knew what the two of you were doing up there.”_

_“Oh, come off it,” Louis says. “We haven’t had sex in this house at all.”_

_“Yet,” Harry says, and flashes Louis a grin, like a toddler trying not to get in trouble._

_“Ew, gross, cut it out. If we see_ anything _we don’t need to see, I’m moving out,” Liam announces._

_“Oh, shut up and move this table with me.”_

_Niall can’t complain about the placement because Harry’s examining his foot, so soon the table is where Liam wanted it in the first place._

_“You’re gonna be fine but you might have a nasty bruise over the next few days,” Harry says, patting Niall’s knee and settling his foot on the ground._

_“When did you go to medical school?” Louis asks, voice light and teasing._

_“I’ve spent nearly two years dealing with all your random sports injuries, I think I’m qualified.”_

_“You should’ve seen me before I tore my ACL and I could play more football,” Louis says as he fills a glass of water. “My mum threatened to glue me to the chair as a kid if I didn’t stop getting injuries.”_

_“Poor baby,” Harry says, dragging his fingertips across Louis’ waist as he passes him to open the fridge and grab a handful of grapes._

_“Anyway, I guess I survived, yeah?”_

_“And we’re all luckier for it,” Liam says, his voice monotone. “Alright, help me unpack these boxes, please. Zayn, you okay?”_

_“Alright,” comes a muffled voice from the living room. “Having a bit of trouble setting this up; could use some help.”_

_“I’ll go get him,” Niall says, scurrying off to the living room. Looks like his foot is fine after all._

_At Liam’s direction, they start taking plates and glasses out of boxes, putting them on the kitchen table until they can figure out where they should go._

_“Where are we gonna put all these?” Louis asks, his eyebrows furrowed. “There’s so many.”_

_“Well there_ are _five of us,” Harry says, poking him in the side. Louis swats back, and then Harry grabs onto his hand and pulls Louis close, hugging him from behind. There’s a lot he wants to say, mainly just reiterating that he_ really _can’t believe they’re living together now, but it doesn’t feel like the time when Liam is three feet away._

_“Okay, let me go, we’ve got work to do,” Louis says, swatting at Harry’s arms until he releases, but he’s grinning as he says it. He picks up a glass and opens a cabinet by the fridge, setting the glass on a shelf carefully._

_“No, no, you can’t put that there,” Liam says, face pinched in a frown. “That makes no sense.”_

_“Sure it does, Li. Glasses near the fridge.”_

_“No, the glasses need to go near the sink.”_

_“No, that’s where the plates go.”_

_“Louis, that makes no sense. Put them here, in this other cabinet.”_

_“I’ve always put my glasses nearest to the fridge.”_

_Liam frowns. “Well, we’re not doing it your way this time. Glasses by the sink. Please.”_

_Harry steps between them. “Hey, hey, hang on. Take a deep breath. It’s not that big of a deal.”_

_“They need to go in the right spot today, I’m not gonna be moving shit for months,” Liam says._

_“This is stupid,” Louis says, pouting. Harry suddenly has a flash of sympathy for Jay for having to argue with that face for two decades. “They obviously don’t go there.”_

_Harry decides the five of them should put it to a vote and Liam wins. Louis doesn’t stop grumbling about it for the rest of the day, even as they unpack the rest of the kitchen supplies and unfold the little kitchen towels Harry’s mum bought them._

_“Stop sulking,” Harry says, cornering him in the hallway when Louis is on the way back from the bathroom. “It’s not a big deal. You’ll get used to it.”_

_“I hate change,” Louis admits in a quiet voice, and Harry brings a thumb to trace his lower lip._

_“I know. It’s gonna take some adjustment,” Harry says, and he gently pushes Louis back through the open door of the bathroom, guiding him backwards until he’s up against the wall. “But listen, we get to_ live together _now. It’s gonna be so fun. No more shitty roommates.”_

_“Are you calling Nialler a shitty roommate?” Louis asks, a grin peeking through._

_“No, but_ you _had shitty roommates. And you did that so that this year, we could live together. And here we are, so cheer up. Can you give me a kiss?”_

_“Gross,” Louis grumbles, but he leans in and kisses Harry anyway. It takes only seconds for it to become heated, and then only a few more seconds for Louis to wind his leg around Harry’s thigh._

_“Lou,” Harry starts to say, but then Louis kisses him again and he’s not going to waste time talking when they could be kissing instead. He sneaks a hand under Louis’ leg, pulling him closer. He puts his other hand on the sink for more leverage, and he lets out a raspy moan when Louis bites at his lip._

_He’s so lost in the way Louis is sneaking a hand underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt and scratching at his back that he doesn’t expect it when he hears Liam shout behind him._

_“Jesus,_ fuck _, lads!”_

_Harry’s forehead drops to the wall as Louis sags in his arms. Harry slowly lets him drop to the ground. He can’t help but giggle; of course this would happen on the first day._

_“What the fuck, this is my_ bathroom _,” Liam’s saying from the hallway, sound muffled by the hands covering his face. “I came in to piss and I find the two of you going at it in here? You have your own bathroom upstairs.”_

_“Sorry,” Louis mutters, his face buried in Harry’s shoulder. They separate and move into the hallway, trying to avoid Liam’s frown._

_“This is what it’s gonna be like now, isn’t it?” Liam asks, following them into the kitchen, where Niall’s taking bread out of one of the cabinets. “We’re all at risk of seeing the two of you half dressed at any moment?”_

_“Well… yeah, basically,” Harry says with a smirk._

_“Don’t have sex in our bathroom either,” Niall warns. “I’ll cut your balls off.”_

_“When we get our own house,” Louis says, ignoring Niall in favor of pinching Harry’s side, “we’re gonna have sex in every room of the house and none of you will ever be invited over.”_

_“Gross,” Liam says, covering his ears with his hands. Harry can’t focus on that because Louis just made reference to their own place. The two of them. “Maybe we should kick you out.”_

_“You knew what you were getting into with the two of us,” Louis points out, taking a glass from the cabinet, stretching on tiptoes to get it down. His shirt rides up and there’s a strip of skin of his back showing, just above the curve of his ass. Louis has a really lovely ass; Harry’s thrilled to be reunited with it and give it the attention it deserves after a summer apart._

_“Harry?” Niall asks, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Harry jumps and shakes himself out of it, trying to clear his thoughts of anything involving all the ways he wants to worship Louis’ ass. “I asked if you brought any peanut butter? It’s not in the fridge.”_

_“Why would peanut butter be in the fridge? It goes in the pantry.”_

_“No, peanut butter gets refrigerated,” Niall says slowly, and another disagreement breaks out._

_They’re never all going to be happy, but Harry figures that things will sort themselves out. They decide to take a break and build the furniture that got delivered that morning, working teams so that everyone at least has a bed to sleep in tonight._

_“Pizza’s coming in fifteen,” Zayn announces a few hours later when he walks back into Liam’s room, where Louis and Niall are struggling to put his bed together._

_“Oh thank god,” Louis announces, dropping the headboard to the ground. “This shit is hard work.” He lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead and Harry’s momentarily frozen, watching the ripples of his stomach as he moves. He snaps out of it when Louis shoots him a dirty grin and raises his eyebrows. Caught again._

_They eat on the floor, three pizzas spread in a circle between them, using paper plates because no one wants to do dishes. The late August sky is bright pink-turning-red-turning-deep orange, bathing the empty room in soft colors._

_“Cheers, lads,” Zayn says, taking a beer from the case and handing one to each of them. “To good friends, a great time, and a new school year.”_

_They toast, and Harry looks at Louis across the circle and grins goofily until Liam pulls his attention away._

_They spend the rest of the time talking about all the things they want to do now that they all live together (which is mostly the parties that they want to throw), and then they get back to work._

_It doesn’t hit Harry properly until they’re in their room, unpacking things from suitcases and boxes. Their closet is nearly full of clothes, Harry’s shoes next to Louis’ and he can’t believe they’re living together. That this room belongs to them, that they’ll be coming back to each other every night. Louis comes back from the bathroom and rubs his eyes as he stands next to Harry._

_“Come on, love, it’s after midnight. Bedtime.”_

_“But I’m on a roll here,” Harry protests. “I’ve got nearly all the books organized by author.”_

_“Hazza,” Louis says, soft and quiet as he stands on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Come to bed.”_

_“I’m nearly done, I swear,” Harry says, clutching a paperback, his grip getting weaker as Louis reaches around his middle and undoes the belt on his jeans slowly._

_“It’s our first night in our new place and I want to fuck you,” Louis says, his voice more demanding. It makes the hairs on Harry’s arms stand up._

_“Remember I share a wall and a bathroom with the two of you,” Niall calls from the hallway as he passes their room to go downstairs. “Don’t make the same mistake as earlier.”_

_“Fuck off,” Louis calls with a grin, and then Harry nods. He places the book on the shelf and turns in Louis’ arms._

_“Guess we’ve got a mattress to christen then, don’t we?” he asks, and pushes Louis toward the bed._

*

Spring break comes and goes, the American road trip of a lifetime, and they pile into the living room when they get home to dissect the whole experience.

“Remember when we were at the White House and you tried to charm one of the security guards to let us in?” Liam asks Niall, one finger pointed at him as the other four grip his bottle of beer.

“Remember when you and Zayn didn’t get to the beach in South Carolina because you lied to us and said you both felt ill when you were really having sex the whole time?” Niall retorts, and Louis bursts into laughter.

When Niall had first suggested the idea of a spring break road trip, Harry hadn’t been on board. He had grand plans of going to a resort in Mexico, or maybe spring skiing in Colorado, or hanging out in their apartment cuddled with Louis all day. He didn’t plan to spend it stuck in the car with his roommates.

But Louis had begged and pleaded and maybe promised two weeks worth of sexual favors if he agreed to come along. They could take turns driving and play music in the car and see the sights along the way and “come on, it’s only 15 hours to Charleston, Harry, it’ll be so fun.”

It had been fun, the best last hurrah as seniors that he could have imagined. They’d been to Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell (a disappointment) and stopped in Washington DC overnight to crash with Niall’s brother and try to get a selfie with the president (unsuccessful, to Niall’s despair), and then they’d spent a few days getting tan and bronze on the beaches of South Carolina.

His one complaint is that he hadn’t gotten to kiss Louis enough; small hotel rooms and cramped cars and tight quarters for five people didn’t make the best environment for overly intimate displays of affection.

Not that that had stopped Liam and Zayn.

“Two more months, lads,” Louis says, and Harry’s brought back to awareness that their long-awaited trip is over and now there’s only _two more months_ until graduation.

He buries his head into Louis’ shoulder and tries not to think about it.

*

The sound of yipping and barking makes it hard to hear Louis, so Harry has to strain his ears to hear properly.

“Okay, but if we did get a dog, _which we are not_ ,” Louis says in response to Harry’s excited look, which quickly falls to a frown, “which of these would you want?”

Harry takes a step forward, and Louis is forced to take one too, his pinky hooked onto Harry’s.

“That one.”

It’s a tiny little corgi, its fur matted around its ears, and he doesn’t look well. But when Harry squats down and peers into the cage, the dog runs forward and gives a loud _yip,_ sticking out its tongue.

“Oh, he’s so cute,” Harry says, his heart melting. “Look, Lou, _please_ , we have to get him.”

Louis sticks his hand in through the bars of the cage and gives the dog a little scratch behind its ears. “Haz, you know we can’t,” he says, and Harry pouts. He does know. That was the whole point of coming to the animal shelter in the first place: they could get their fill of dogs without having to actually take one home. They’ve been here a half hour and walked up and down the aisles, afraid to get too close lest one of the animals capture their hearts.

“But I want one,” Harry begs, and he wishes it were acceptable to have a temper tantrum in the middle of Boston’s largest animal shelter. It’s not, because he’s twenty-two and far too old for that kind of behavior.

“Come on, let’s keep looking before you get too attached,” Louis says, standing up and bringing his hand to the small of Harry’s back to guide him forward. They stop at a dog of Louis’ choosing, an older chocolate lab with sweet eyes.

“This is the one,” Louis declares. “I want to get a dog just like this.”

“We can’t,” Harry reminds him, and this time it’s Louis pouting. “We’ve got three roommates and we have no idea where we’re going to be in three months and we don’t have the kind of flexibility you need for a dog. Maybe we can think about it in a year?”

“This was a terrible idea,” Louis says, pulling away from the dog and linking his fingers with Harry’s. “Worst date idea in history.”

“It was _your_ date idea,” Harry reminds him.

“Yeah, cause I thought it’d be nice to go hang out with some animals. Now I just have baby fever.”

“You wanna talk about babies instead?” Harry asks, his face brightening. “Come on, let’s get smoothies and talk about babies.”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs. “Alright.”

It’s a short walk to the smoothie place around the corner from the animal shelter, and a few minutes later they’re walking in the park, hands still entwined as they sip fruit smoothies.

“You did _not_ plan to name a kid Chicken,” Louis says through tears of laughter. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I really did,” Harry says proudly. “Even told my mum that if she had another baby, she could name it Chicken, but I was still going to name my first baby Chicken no matter what. I’ll find my old journal for you, I wrote all their names. There were at least eight in my future family, I hope you can make that happen for me.”

“We are absolutely not naming our kid Chicken. Sorry, baby. Non-negotiable.”

Harry sighs and drops Louis’ hand. “Well, we had a good run, babe, but I think this is where we part ways.”

Louis rolls his eyes and grips his hand again. “Please, maybe we can work out a compromise. What about a fruit? Apple? Pear Styles-Tomlinson has a nice ring. Or would it be Tomlinson-Styles?”

“Apple is absolutely out of the question,” Harry says. “I always did like the name Darcy, though.”

“I remember,” Louis answers. “I’ll never forget the first time you mentioned it. We were at the movies and we hadn’t been dating that long and you said it so, so casually. _‘I’ve always wanted to name a daughter Darcy. But only if you like it.’_ I thought my heart was gonna drop out of my ass.”

Harry laughs as they pass the playground, which is full of screaming kids. Harry can’t help but stop them for a minute, his eyes glancing over and landing on a little girl with curly pigtails and a bright blue sweatshirt. She can’t be more than four, and she’s lifting up her arms for her dad to help her onto the monkey bars. He’s patient with her, lifting her carefully and helping her swing from one bar to the next. Harry’s heart aches a little bit.

“Haz,” Louis says quietly, tugging his hand to continue walking.

“Yeah, sorry, I just…” _Can’t wait til that’s me and you._

“I know,” Louis says, on the same wavelength as always. “Me too. In a few years.”

“How many do you want? Because eight seems a bit unrealistic, the dreams of seven year old Harry be damned.”

“I think four could be pretty cool,” Louis says. “Probably all we could handle, really. What about you?”

“I want as many as you want,” Harry answers, and it feels like a copout but it’s the truth. Louis has a million siblings and look how he turned out; he’s the best man that Harry knows. If his mum could handle it, maybe Louis and Harry could handle half of what she did.

“I guess we’ll start with one, yeah?”

“Can’t wait for it to me and you and baby Chicken,” Harry says through a laugh, and he’s very much expecting it when Louis smacks him.

*

A week later, it’s a Thursday night and they’re sitting on the sofa, Louis’ head in Harry’s lap as Harry reads a book Zayn recommended to him. Louis’ favorite reality singing show is on television, and Harry’s running his fingers through Louis’ hair in no real pattern, just doing it because it’s comforting.

“Hey,” Niall says, coming down the stairs with only one shoe on, the other in his hand. “There’s gonna be a party at the frat. D’you wanna come? Should be a good time.”

Louis looks up at Harry and they have a silent conversation using only their eyes.

_I’ll go if you want to go._

_I’m good where I am, thanks_ , Louis says back with his eyes, and then Harry looks up at Niall again.

“Think we’re gonna stay in. Thanks though. Hope you have fun.”

“You two are so weird,” Niall says, shaking his head before leaving.

“I love you,” Louis says once he’s gone.

“Weirdness and all?” Harry asks, pushing Louis’ fringe away from his face.

“Weirdness and all,” Louis confirms.


	5. Senior Spring Part II

The cap and gown order form lands in Harry’s email inbox in early April. He fills it out, submits his payment information, and then promptly does everything he can to forget about it.

He goes out as often as he can, spending almost every Thursday and Friday at the bars, attending on-campus events, doing all the things he thought he would have forever to do. No such luck; his college years are now numbered in weeks.

He goes out on Wednesdays because he can, too, because Louis has rehearsals for his show and Harry’s not going to sit at home and wait for him to come home like some kind of scorned househusband. He takes pictures of his friends every chance he gets, hoping they’ll be enough to transport him back to the moment in five years’ time. He lets Louis do body shots off him at a party at Ed’s house, which ends with the two of them fucking in the bathroom and returning to the party with guilty, pleased smiles.

They’re at a bar on a Friday night in mid-April, the air finally growing warm outside, and the place is packed. Students fill every available inch space and it’s hard to get to the counter, but Harry wants another drink, wants to keep his skin buzzing and happy.

“I’m gonna get another round of shots,” Harry shouts in Louis’ ear. “Come help me carry them?”

“I’m dancing!” Louis yells back.

“I’ll go with you,” Ed calls, and Harry nods, trailing his fingers along Louis’ hip as he walks by.

He recognizes most of the students he passes, people he had class with or passed in his freshman dorm or embarrassingly enough, one girl who tried to make out with him sophomore year. She doesn’t meet his eyes, but the rest of them wave or attempt a conversation. All in all, it takes him nearly ten minutes to cross the bar, and Ed’s already over there, watching intently as the bartender pours out the shots.

“I got two extra,” Ed yells. “Let’s do them now before we go back.”

“Alright!” Harry tells him, and they proceed to do exactly just that.

They stay until closing, lingering until they’re nearly forced out of the bar. They’re all giggly and wasted and _happy_ as they exit the bar, Louis’ hand resting on Harry’s waist as they stand on the sidewalk and wait for the rest of their friends to come out, the lights inside a little blinding now that it’s officially closed.

“Take me home,” Louis says, running his hands up the front of Harry’s shirt, a black sheer thing that he’d bought specifically to torture Louis on nights out just like this one. He pinches one of Harry’s nipples and Harry squirms, wrapping his fingers around both of Louis’ wrists to still his hands. “Can you fuck me? I want you to fuck me.”

“Don’t be naughty,” Harry says, voice low and teasing.

“Can’t just wear your shirt half unbuttoned and then expect me to behave myself.”

“We’re getting pizza!” Niall yells, clapping Harry on the back and bursting his Louis bubble. “Come on, it’s one dollar slices, let’s go!”

“You wanna get some?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. Louis probably doesn’t want pizza but he knows that Harry does, and they’ve both been making sacrifices for each other more than usual lately, knowing that they have the rest of their lives to be together but not that much longer to be with their friends every day.

It’s why Harry’s okay with Louis staying up all night to play video games with Zayn or plan stupid pranks, and it’s why Louis didn’t care that time when Harry fell asleep at Ed’s and didn’t come home until morning. They’re giving each other space -- space to be their own people, space to do stupid college things, space to be with their friends without feeling bad about it. And then they come home to one another, and Harry smiles when he remembers that he gets to do this every day for the rest of his life.

So if Harry wants to get pizza, Louis is going to let him, and then he’s going to take Louis home and fuck him until he’s crying.

Because they’re good for each other like that.

“Come on, Styles,” Liam says, grabbing him by the elbow and guiding him across the crosswalk. The light is blinking and Harry wonders how long it’s been like that without them noticing.

The line for pizza is out the door, which isn’t a surprise. Antonio’s Friday dollar slices are among the most important college traditions. Harry loves waiting in the line, loves seeing all the people getting weird toppings on their pizza, loves being part of something that feels bigger than himself, a tradition that decades of students participated in before him.

“You’re overthinking it, Haz,” Louis says, poking him in the back with two fingers to get him to take a few steps forward. “It’s just pizza.”

“Yeah, but don’t you love the idea of this? Like, this will be a tradition we’ll talk about whenever we meet someone else who went here, even if they’re 10 years older. It's a shared experience that unites us all.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Can you stop being such a sappy little shit and order pizza for us?”

“Yeah, but only if you let me take a picture of you holding it,” Harry says, and after a second of hesitation, Louis nods.

So yeah, Harry’s graduating but he’s trying his best to make the most of every moment and opportunity, and if that means dollar pizza slices with his friends and then going home to have tipsy sex with the love of his life, that’s what he’s gonna do.

*

“God, another person I went to high school with just got engaged,” Niall says, turning his laptop around so that Liam and Harry can see the Facebook page. “Is there something in the water?”

“Aren’t we a bit young for that?” Liam asks, peering at the screen. It’s a nice photo, the girl’s hand covering her mouth in surprise and the guy in front of her down on one knee. “She’s, what, twenty-two?”

“I think she’s a year older, actually,” Niall says, taking the computer back and staring at it again. “But still, can you imagine being committed to someone so young? Like, that’s it, you’re with them for the rest of your lives, no one else.”

“A bit scary, isn’t it? I can’t imagine.” Liam shakes his head.

“I can,” Harry says, insides warm and gooey at the thought of Louis proposing to him. He’s thought about it _so_ much, has spent entire classes imagining the words that Louis will say when he asks, what they’ll be wearing, where they’ll be standing, how he’ll feel. He’s got that last one settled, at least. He’ll be over the moon.

He fully expects to cry. Louis better bring tissues.

They’re in a private study room at the library and they’re supposed to be doing homework, but when it comes to working on final projects or talking about how much he loves Louis, Louis wins every time.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Liam says, shrugging Harry off. “But how do regular people know?”

“What do you mean regular people?” Harry asks, expression halfway to offended. “What’re me and Lou? Abnormal?”

“You’re like...soulmates or something,” Niall says, biting the edge of his fingernail. “Like once you got together, just...perfect for each other. I dunno, dude, don’t make me get sappy about it.”

“He’s right, Haz. The two of you are in a league of your own.”

Harry feels his insides go warm again. “You think so?” Privately, he agrees, but he’s gonna take any opportunity he can for his friends to talk about how much Louis loves him. He’s felt it every day of the last three years, but it’s still nice to hear it from other people.

“One hundred percent, mate. The two of you are in your own little bubble. You have entire conversations without any words. It’s a little bit freaky.”

“And you’re sickeningly domestic,” Niall adds. “Like the other day, I walked in on the two of you making a grocery list and talking about what to get Louis’ mum for his birthday. Like proper adults.”

“I walked into the laundry room last week and you were folding laundry while talking about what you wanted to do to Louis that night. I left the room immediately, but like...who knew you could make laundry into dirty talk.”

“Alright, stop it, I get it,” Harry protests, his face flushing bright red. “We’re in love and we’re gross and you can’t wait ‘til we move out and leave you alone.”

“Oh, stop it,” Niall coos, pulling Harry’s hands away from his face. “We love living with you. It’s quite nice, actually. It’s like…”

“Watching true love before our very eyes,” Liam interrupts, and Niall nods.

“Exactly.”

“I never thought I’d love anyone like I love him,” Harry confesses. “It’s miles above what I ever expected.”

“I know,” Liam says quietly. “It’s pretty beautiful to watch.”

“I love him so much,” Harry continues, voice quieter. “I just want to marry him.”

“You’re going to,” Niall says, and the certainty in his voice gives Harry hope.

“But when?” Harry whines. “I just want to get engaged. I want to plan a wedding. I want to be _married_.”

“You’re gonna get there,” Liam says, patting his hand. He looks a little uncomfortable with the whole thing, but fuck it, Liam’s in a relationship too and so Harry doesn’t feel _that_ bad whining about this.

“Why can’t he just propose already? Then I can start planning the wedding.”

“I thought you wanted to wait until he had a job first,” Niall says quietly.

“We do! But, like, I also want it now. He heard back from that place in California last week and he didn’t get the job, so we’re back to square one again.” Harry sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out how to explain this to them without sounding ungrateful. “I can only plan the wedding on Pinterest so many times without getting sad about how there isn’t any wedding to actually plan.”

“But there is,” Liam points out. “You’re going to get married. He wants to marry you.”

“But what if he doesn’t? He hasn’t talked about it in weeks.”

“Harry, you’re being ridiculous. Louis Tomlinson is in love with you,” Niall says, and just the sound of his name still fills Harry with warmth. “He wants to marry you more than anything in the world. He probably just not mentioning it because he doesn’t want you to feel pressured with all the job things going on. Isn’t it enough to know that there’s going to be a wedding? It’s not like if you got engaged tomorrow it’d be next week. So what’s the rush?”

“I want to call him my fiancé,” he confesses,voice open and honest. “I love him so much that it _hurts_ , and calling him my boyfriend makes me feel like a ninth grader with a stupid crush. I love him and I want to be committed to him, and I want other people to know that. I just want him to be my fiancé.”

“You’re gonna get there,” Liam repeats, and Niall nods.

“I hope so.”

“You know what you need,” Niall announces, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “A new hobby. Something creative and fun.”

“I have a hobby,” Harry says, pointing at his open computer.

“Pinterest isn’t a hobby,” they both say.

“But I’ve got--”

“No, Harry,” Liam says gently. “You need something where you’re not thinking about flower arrangements and suits and first looks. You need--”

“How do you know what a first look is?” Harry asks.

“Never mind. Anyway, the point is, you can’t fixate on this. He’s gonna propose when he wants to propose, and it’s not gonna do you any good to stress about it. You’ll only make yourself sick.”

“Why don’t you propose, then, if you want it so bad?” Niall challenges. There’s no malice there, but Harry can’t help but hear it anyway.

“I promised him he could do it,” Harry admits, thinking back to their six month anniversary and a cross continental phone call he’ll never forget. “It was summer break before sophomore year, and he was on the phone, and his mum had just gotten engaged. He said ‘I can’t wait to propose to you, I’m gonna make it so romantic,’ and I said okay, and that was kind of it. That settled it. Anyway, I always pictured someone proposing to me. I never imagined being the one doing the asking.”

“You’ve got hearts in your eyes right now, mate,” Liam says, “so I think you gotta wait.”

“I know,” Harry groans, crossing his arms on the table and burying his face in his arms. “I know, and I hate it.”

“It’ll be alright,” Niall says, rubbing his back. “The two of you are forever. There’s gonna be wedding bells soon enough.”

*

Louis crawls into bed late that night, back from an extended rehearsal for his show. He presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck, just above the line of his t-shirt.

“Mm, hi,” Harry mumbles, voice sleepy. “How was your day?”

“Was good, how was yours?”

“Good. Missed you, though.”

“Me too,” Louis mumbles, and he inhales and Harry can tell he's breathing him in. He'd turn around to kiss him if he weren't so tired. “Sorry I didn’t see you all day, can't wait to catch up with you tomorrow.”

There's a long pause and Harry wonders if Louis has fallen asleep, exhausted and worn out from a long day of classes and meetings and rehearsals. And then:

“I love you so much. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Harry grins, and he doesn't know if Liam spoke to Louis or if this is another one of those situations where he can read Harry’s mood, but either way, he's thankful for it.

“Me too.”

*

“Harry! Haz, Hazza!” Louis calls, running up to him at a half-sprint.

“Hi, babe,” Harry says, caught by surprise, and he barely has time to smile before Louis skids to a stop and grabs him by the waist, kissing him deeply.

“Haz, guess what you'll never believe,” Louis says, his chest heaving. Students stream past them, and Harry grips Louis’ elbow and guides them away from the door of the building where his class just ended.

“What?” Harry asks, smiling at the way Louis’ movements have all gone frantic. It's a good distraction from thinking about his professor’s  “I’ll see you next week for our last class,” as they left the classroom. Harry will take any excuse not to think about anything graduation-related or the stack of job applications sitting on his desk.

“I finally had my meeting with the development office this morning to see if they had any job ideas for me.”

“Yeah? That’s the one that kept getting rescheduled, right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “They're not hiring, but she's friends with someone in admissions, and _they're_ hiring.”

“No way!”  Harry feels something inside of him grow, a little warm ball expanding, but he tampers it down, trying not to get his hopes up.

“Yes way. I mean, I really don’t want to get my hopes up, but I think that _maybe_... we might get to stay here. She thinks I’m perfect for the job, and I’ve got the experience, and I know the school, obviously. So, like...it’s a possibility.”

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” Louis says. “She sent them my resumé and the woman wants to meet with me tomorrow. They want to hire someone before finals start in two weeks.” His smile is bright and happy; Harry thinks, _fuck it,_ he’s going to be happy for Louis, thoughts of protecting his heart be damned.

He gives a loud whoop and kisses Louis soundly before picking him up and spinning him around. When he sets him back on the ground, Louis’ face is flushed and happy and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything better in his life.

“God, this is exciting,” Harry says, pulling Louis close.

“Well, don’t get ahead of yourself just yet, pal. It’s only a meeting.”

“I know, but like...we’d get to stay. We can get a shitty apartment and it’ll be ours and it’ll be here and it’ll be you and me and --”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling again. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

*

Liam comes home that night and walks into the living room, his hand clasped in Zayn’s, and says that they both have an announcement to make.

Niall’s sitting on the floor, a piece of pizza halfway to his mouth, and Harry and Louis are sitting at opposite ends of the ratty couch, legs tangled together, Harry reading a magazine while they watch a movie.

“What’s that, then?” Louis asks, and Harry feels something in his heart twist in the split second before Liam opens his mouth.

“We’re moving back to England,” Zayn announces, and Harry feels his heart drop out of his chest. “I just got offered a job at a documentary production company, and I gave them my answer this morning.”

“And I’m going back too,” Liam says. “My sister’s husband owns a pub in Manchester and he can get me set up bartending there while I figure out what I want to do.”

Harry can’t move, feels himself frozen in place, and it takes great effort to meet Louis’ eyes. Because Louis, who had to have known all along that someday a separation was coming, is still going to be distraught that they’ll be separating.  He looks dumbfounded, his jaw dropped a bit as he stares across the room.

It’s Niall who moves first, dropping his plate to the floor and jumping up to hug both of them while he yells his congratulations, and that snaps Harry into action. He gives Louis a sad smile and tugs him up from the couch so they can go join the group hug.

“Congratulations, guys,” Harry says, and he’s impressed that his voice sounds stable. “I’m so excited for you.”

“Me too,” Louis says, the words wobbly, and for half a heartbeat they all just hold each other before Louis breaks down in tears.

“Oh, Lou,” Zayn says, pulling away so he can hug Louis tightly. “I know.”

“I’m gonna miss you so so much,” Louis sobs. Harry can’t do anything but take a seat next to Liam on the couch, where Niall’s asking him questions in a low voice. He has to fight to tear his eyes away from Louis, who’s still crying while Zayn tries to comfort him. He wants to fix it but he knows he can’t, knows that as protective he is about Louis, there’s some things he just can’t make better.

Liam distracts Harry with a hand on his knee, asking him if they know what they’re doing yet.

“Not quite,” Harry says, “but hopefully we’ll be staying here, if all goes according to plan.”

“I hope it works out, mate,” Liam says, smiling brightly. “You two deserve the best.”

“So do you,” Harry answers, chancing a glance at Louis, who’s cuddled up with Zayn in the armchair, his face sad as he nods at whatever Zayn is saying. “But if we do stay, I’m gonna miss you a lot.”

“Me too. I wish we could stay.”

“Holy fuck, you’re _leaving,_ ” Niall says, looking suddenly shocked. Harry knows how he feels; they’ve lived together for two years and have seen each other nearly day for four; Harry can’t imagine what it’ll be like when Liam and Zayn aren’t just a wall away. “What’s your last day here?”

“Beginning of June, right when the lease runs up,” Liam says. “We fly out that night.”

“I feel like…” Harry scrubs his hand over his face. “I feel like I was so consumed by what was happening with me and Lou that I didn’t even think to be sad about how we’d be leaving you guys, too.”

“It’s okay,” Liam says, hugging Harry as best he can while pressed against Harry’s side. “I get it. Just weird to think that we won’t see you every day.”

Harry makes a little noise of agreement. There’s nothing more he can do but press his head against Liam’s and cherish the time they’ve got left.

*

“I know, babe, I know,” Harry says that night, rubbing Louis’ back underneath his shirt, holding him close. “I don’t want them to leave either.”

“But it’s _Zayn_ , Harry,” Louis tries, and then he buries his face in Harry’s shoulder again.

Harry gives him a moment before he releases him in order to flick off the bedside light, cloaking the room in darkness. It’s not even midnight yet, and the only reason the two of them ever go to bed before then is to have sex, but not tonight.

He shifts until he’s on his side, facing Louis. Their feet tangle together and Louis wipes tears away from his eyes. Harry feels a sharp ache in his chest, and it’s a dual pain: his own, and Louis’, and there’s nothing he can do to make this better for either of them.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Harry whispers. “You’ll still be able to talk to him whenever you want.”

“But it won’t be the same,” Louis says, not quite a whisper in answer. “Why does he have to leave?”

“We can go back to England if you want,” Harry says; he didn’t intend to say it, but as his fingers trace the outline of Louis’ compass tattoo, he finds that he means it. _I’d follow you anywhere,_  he’d said when they got their matching tattoos, and he still feels it tonight.

“Don’t be silly,” Louis says. “We’re gonna stay here. There are more opportunities.”

“Whatever you want, Lou. We can go wherever you want.”

“What I want is to stay.”

“Then we’ll stay.”

“Why are you like this?” Louis asks, and Harry flinches slightly. “No, I mean, how are you so...so bloody _good_ to me?”

Harry brushes the fringe out of Louis’ eyes. “You make it easy.”

“I really don’t,” Louis protests. “I’ve made things so difficult for you this year and you’re always there even when I’m being a pain in the arse and--”

Harry leans forward and stops him with a kiss before Louis can dig himself further into a hole of self-pity.

“That’s the love of my life you’re talking about there, so be nicer, please,” he says, giving him another kiss. “Besides, it’s a two way street. Soon enough I’ll be whiny and in desperate need of affection and you’ll be there to help me.”

“Oh, then what is it that I deal with now?” Louis says with a smirk, and if he wasn’t so sad, Harry would smack him.

“I love you,” Harry says, pulling him close against his chest. “Even if you’re a pain in the ass.”

*

Student teaching has been one of the more difficult experiences of Harry’s college career, but it’s also without a doubt been the most rewarding. He’s now more confident than ever that he’s chosen the right path. It’s a huge relief, especially in the face of what he’s seen Louis go through, but now it’s over, and he has to figure out how to say goodbye to the kids who changed his life for the better.

“What do we say to Mr. Styles, class?” Mr. Menino says, getting up from his chair and joining Harry at the front of the room.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” the class of thirty first graders says in unison, fidgeting in their seats as they wait for the bell to ring.

Harry wipes a tear from his eye, puts his hands together as if in prayer, and gives a little bow; even though it feels a bit dorky, it still feels like the right thing to do. “Thank you for all the lessons you taught me this year,” he says wetly. “You’ve been one of the best classes I could hope for.”

They’re let go a few minutes later, and he gives big hugs and forehead kisses to every student that comes up to say a personal goodbye. Fittingly, Olivia is last, and he can’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia thinking about how much she’s grown up this year. She’s no longer that bashful six-year-old who teased him for being in love and said she couldn’t wait to get married one day, but a confident seven-year-old with a bright future ahead of her.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” Olivia says, hugging him tight. Her tears are staining his favorite plaid shirt, but it’s just water and she’s not hurting anyone.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” he says, adjusting his stance so that he can squat in front of her again. “But there’s just two more months of school and you’re gonna have the best time this summer, and when you get back you’re gonna be a second grader! You’ll be such a big girl.”

“I’m already a big girl,” she says with a frown. “That’s what my mommy told me.”

He laughs and combs his fingers through her hair. “Well, yes of course, you’re definitely a big girl. But you’ll be even bigger.”

“Will _you_ be bigger?”

“I will,” he says with a laugh. It’s weird to picture Olivia coming back here next fall when he has no clue what he’ll be doing. He might be teaching here, or he might be working in an entirely different city and he’ll never see her again. The panic sweeps through him and he takes a deep breath; one step at a time. _I’ll go where Lou goes_ , he reminds himself.

“Will you be married?”

“I’m not sure, Liv. We’ll see.”

“I hope you are,” she says, hugging him one more time and skipping out the door.

“Those kids really loved you,” Mr. Menino says with a smile, gesturing to the stack of artwork and gifts that have accumulated through the day.

“And I loved them. They’re a really great group. Not just the first graders, but all of them.”

“I saw that you applied for the first grade teaching position,” Mr. Menino says. Harry nods, apprehensive, and waits as Mr. Menino assesses him, his lips pursed. “Well, I’ve told them that I think you’re an excellent candidate for the position, and I’d be thrilled to work with you.”

Harry breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Menino, thank you so much. That’s really kind of you.”

“Harry, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jake?” he says, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. “Anyway, it’s true, it’s really been a pleasure working with you. Have you looked into the substitute teacher program? You could cover classes when the school needs the help, and still go to grad school part time with a stipend. It might be worth looking into if you don’t have any other positions in mind.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you so much, Jake. I’ve learned so much from you and it’s all been great.”

“You’re welcome, Harry,” he says, shaking his hand firmly. “You’re gonna go far, I can feel it.”

Harry gets a little weepy when he walks out of the building for the last time, but he’s not gonna tell anyone that.

*

“Okay, here you go. My extra special, made with love, must-have for a great day, eggs on toast,” Harry announces, depositing the plate in front of Louis with a flourish. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Louis looks up at him with a beaming smile and shakes his head. “I’ve got tea, orange juice, and your famous egg on toast. I think I’m good.”

“Good,” Harry says, kissing the top of his head before whirling back around to fix his own eggs (scrambled with a sprinkle of cheese) at the stove. “Now eat up, you’re going to ace this interview and I don’t want you to be late.”

“Wait,” Louis says, tugging on the string of his apron to pull Harry back to him. “You forgot one thing.”

“Do you need more tea?” Harry asks concernedly, coming back to his side to check his plate.

“Not really, I just wanted to do this,” Louis says, and then he pulls Harry down for a kiss.

*

Louis comes from his interview with a bright smile, babbling about the work they do in the admissions office and how he’d connected with the interviewer on so many levels, and all the travel he’ll get to do if he’s offered the job.

Harry grins and thinks, _maybe this is the time it works out_.

*

“Sure you wanna do this?” Louis asks, pulling Harry to a stop on the sidewalk just before they get to the door. “If you don’t want to--”

“One hundred percent,” Harry interrupts decisively. “Stop trying to talk me out of it.”

“I’m not!” Louis protests. “I just…” he trails off, and then shakes his head quickly and tilts his face up to kiss Harry. It’s just a slight brush of lips, but it still makes Harry feel gooey and warm inside.

“Okay, let’s go,” Harry says when they break apart, and then Louis pulls them into the tattoo parlor.

“Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he tells the receptionist, and Harry feels a little swoop in his stomach, “and I called earlier about coming in for a set of tattoos.”

“Alright, they’ll be ready for you in a few minutes if you want to take a seat,” the guy at the front desk says.

They take a seat on a pair of hard-backed plastic chairs. Harry leans his head against Louis’ shoulder sleepily and Louis’ thumb rubs over the inside of his wrist in slow circles while they wait for the artist to call them back.

“You’re absolutely insane,” Harry says quietly, pressing the words against Louis’ neck. “And I love you.”

Harry had woken up that morning to the shrill ringing of his alarm, and just as he was about to get out of bed, Louis had pulled him back.  “Let’s go get our tattoos,” Louis said, his tone firm. “The ones we’ve been talking about. Let’s skip class and go get them and maybe go out for lunch.”

“Are you…” Harry had asked, amazed. "Are you joking?”

“One hundred percent serious,” Louis answered. “It’s a beautiful day, I had a successful job interview yesterday, and I wanna be with you forever. Let’s go.”

That’s how they found themselves sitting in the waiting room of a tattoo parlor, Harry a little wide eyed, blood thrumming in his veins at the thought of doing this for a second time.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Louis says. “D’you think it’ll hurt more or less than the first time?”

“Probably a bit less, since they’re smaller. Plus maybe we’ll be used to the pain?”

Louis makes a little humming sound under his breath and continues to rub the skin of Harry’s wrist, probably trying to comfort himself more than comfort Harry. “I’m a bit nervous, all the same.”

“I know,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But you did it last time and survived, I think you can do it again.”

Harry thinks back to the tiny parlor in London where they did this for the first time, thinks of watching Louis and feeling overcome by love and desire and the sharp pull of _want_ , and he wonders if those feelings will still be as strong. He hopes so.

“Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson?” the receptionist says, and Louis looks at him before they stand up.

“Let’s hope so.”

*

“Okay, all done,” the tattoo artist says. “Just let me wrap it and then you two will be good to go.”

“Thanks so much, Matt,” Louis says, standing up and crossing the space of the small room to get to Harry. He puts a soft hand on Harry’s shoulder and stares down at the anchor on Harry’s forearm, eyes glued to Matt’s movements. His fingers are itching to touch it, Harry knows, because he feels the exact same way about the rope circling Louis’ wrist.

It's been a long morning spent watching Louis get tattooed and trying not to think about how horny he feels watching Louis bite his lip in pain, trying not to think about how much he wants to kiss him and can’t. But mostly he’s just _overcome_ again; maybe you could pass off the ship and compass as single entities but how is he supposed to go around with a ship and an anchor without anything to match? He can’t. And he won’t have to, either.

“I know it’s a nice day, but I’m gonna need you to stay out of the sun for a few days,” Matt says. “Sun exposure can be really bad for a brand new tattoo.”

Harry doesn’t think that’ll be a problem, what with the way Louis is looking about seven seconds away from manhandling him to a back alley outside and dropping to his knees. They’ll be lucky if they make it back to their apartment. Turns out that whole getting inked is a massive turn-on thing wasn’t limited to just the first time, not for either of them.

“I got it,” Harry says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and pushing Louis’ hand away when they get to the front desk to pay.

“Harry, it was my idea, I can pay for it,” Louis insists, trying to give his card to the receptionist.

“My treat. You’re the one who had the interview yesterday, you deserve it.”

“Are you sure? It’s not cheap.”

Harry calculates how he can move some of his money around to cover it. He’s still got some money left over from his birthday gift from his grandma, who insisted he spend it on something fun. Well this counts, right? He can make it work.

“Yeah, I’m sure. You’re worth it.”

Louis bites his lip, uncertain. “Thank you,” he breathes quietly, and Harry smiles and hands over his credit card.

“My pleasure,” he answers with a grin. “Can we go home?”

“I thought you wanted to get lunch?” Louis asks as they leave the tattoo parlor and step into the warm sunshine. Harry reaches down to tangle their fingers together, enjoying the way the wrapping of his tattoo feels brushing against Louis’.

“I do want lunch, but…” Harry trails off as they approach a crosswalk. He’s not a prude by any means, but he’s not going to subject the nice elderly lady standing there to an announcement of how much he wants his boyfriend to fuck him until he’s crying.

“But?” Louis echoes, smirking like he knows exactly what Harry is thinking.

“You know,” Harry says quietly, uncharacteristically embarrassed.

“I might, but I want you to say it anyway,” Louis says gleefully as they cross the street.

“I want you to take me home,” Harry tries. He wants Louis to take him home, mark him up, and make him so needy he’s crying, wants them both naked and sated and happy in bed, two sets of matching tattoos all they’re wearing.

“And do what? Make cookies? Clean out the fridge?” He’s grinning, and he’s such a little _shit_ , knowing exactly what Harry wants but deciding to torture him all the same.

“Let’s go home so you can fuck me,” Harry says, and okay, he definitely said that way louder than he intended to. He releases Louis’ hand to slap his hand over his mouth, flushing bright red, and Louis cackles.

“Wow, are you inviting the whole street to join us?” Louis teases, and Harry smacks him on the shoulder. “We’ll go home, but we’re getting sandwiches first.”

*

“D’you think they’re gonna tell Niall?” Louis asks, pressing Harry up against their bedroom door, shutting it with their combined body weight.

“Do I think that Zayn and Liam are gonna tell Niall that they caught me unzipping your pants before we’d even made it all the way into the hallway?” Harry asks. “Yeah, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance of that.”

“I hate them,” Louis mumbles, slipping two fingers into the waistband of Harry’s skinny jeans.

“You don’t,” Harry argues, kissing him again. “But I’d rather talk about you and me, because I want to have sex already.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Louis snorts. “So has half the city.”

There’s two ways Harry could take this: demanding and needy, bickering with Louis until they both get what they want, or sweet and emotional until Louis decides he’s ready to give him what they both want. Either way the result is the same, but the first one is a lot more difficult.

It’s also Harry’s favorite, because bickering with Louis is one of his favorite hobbies, but that method takes twice as long. And right now, horny and blood thrumming under his skin and his best friend pressed against him, wearing a backwards snapback and a matching tattoo to Harry’s on his wrist, Harry just wants it sweet and loving.

“I love you,” he whispers to Louis, who’s in the middle of undoing the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

“I love you too,” Louis says, and Harry presses a kiss to his temple. “Thanks for going along with my crazy idea.”

“Babe, I’m here for every crazy idea you've ever got. Especially when it involves me watching you get a tattoo.” He wonders if it’ll ever fade, the joy of doing nothing but watching Louis, but then he thinks about how he’s never gotten sick of Louis in general, how everything seems fresh and new and different just because they’re together.

They kiss lazily against the door for a while, peeling each other’s clothes off sweet and slow. Harry feels Louis half-hard against his hip and he nips at his bottom lip, rolling his hips up against Louis’ sharply.

“What do you want?” Louis asks, settling a hand on Harry’s waist. Harry wants his hand lower, lower, lower, wants to ride Louis’ fingers until he’s crying, wants to make love to his best friend.

“Whatever you want,” he says quietly, and Louis giggles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Your game.”

Louis guides him to the bed and kneels over Harry as he falls back on the soft pillows, his eyes hooded. He’s gloriously naked and so, so pretty, Harry’s wildest dreams come to life.

Harry’s already half-hard, and all he wants is Louis inside of him. He grips his own cock loosely, rubbing his thumb over the head.

That spurs Louis into action, gets him crawling up the bed to swat Harry’s hand away.

“Stop that, I’m in charge.”

“Do something about it then,” Harry retorts, and Louis kisses him to get him to shut up.

Louis opens him up slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, his lube sticky fingers coming up to trace Harry’s face for a kiss while he squirms at the two fingers crooked inside of him. Harry gets a hand between them to grip Louis’ cock, and Louis lets out a moan so loud that Harry’s certain everyone outside could hear it through the open window.

“You ready for a third finger?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. He always feels ready, always wants it even if it stings a little bit. His stomach jumps and he bites at Louis’ shoulder at the intrusion, his teeth definitely leaving marks. He doesn’t feel a bit bad about it.

“God, Harry,” Louis hisses when Harry scratches at his back.

“Lou,” he says, his voice low. “Wait, Lou, let me-- can I suck you off first?”

“You don’t have to,” Louis says against his throat. “Already got three fingers inside of you, I don’t think--”

“Lou,” Harry whines.

“Later,” Louis says decisively, wiggling his fingers inside of him, stretching against his rim. “Later, baby. It’s my show now, that's what you said.”

“Alright,” Harry chokes out, feeling Louis’ teeth scrape against his nipple, and then he can’t think about anything else.

“I want you,” Louis says breathlessly.

“Me too,” Harry says, leaning up to kiss him. “Always, always, always want you.”

He doesn’t feel as desperately needy anymore when Louis pushes into him, but it’s still so, so good. Louis’ breath is hot against his neck, his fingers pulling at Harry’s hair as he bottoms out.

“How’s that, baby?” Louis mumbles, pulling out and slamming into him again, and Harry’s breath hitches while he fumbles for an answer. It’s good, it’s _amazing_ , Louis’ face hovering over his, every shift of Louis’ hips like an electric shock.

“Feels good,” Harry gets out.

“Just good?”

“The best,” Harry says, shifting his hips a little bit, his legs coming around to hold Louis’ ass in place.

“Love your ass,” Harry says, opening his eyes and gasping at the way Louis is looking down at him, adoration plain on his face.

“I love you so much,” Louis says, slowing his thrusts. Harry feels something alight inside of him, a combination of comfort and love and familiarity and desire. He brings Louis’ newly tattooed wrist up to his eye level and circles his fingers around the wrapping, admiring the rope that’s now permanently on his skin.

“I adore you,” Harry says, his hands coming up to rest at the sides of Louis’ face. “I just adore you. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Tears pool in his eyes, the result of overstimulation and emotion and his best friend, the best boy, the other half of his heart. He can’t believe how much he loves him, how much he would do to make him smile.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, his thrusts coming a little faster now. Harry’s cock is brushing between their stomachs with every thrust, and it’s making everything so much more intense. “Love you so much. Love you more than I ever thought I would get to love someone.”

“Always, always you,” Harry mumbles, and he feels heat building, feels himself getting close, feels like he’s never known anything better than this. “I’m getting close, you gonna come?”

He’s thinking about how he wanted this to be about Louis taking charge, how he wanted him to mark him up and make him his, and it’s not exactly how he wanted it but it’s better, it’s him and it’s Louis and it’s making love.

It’s whispered adorations in his ear that make him come, the scrape of a finger over an over sensitive nipple and a perfectly timed, “Come on, baby, I love you so much,” that has him coming all over his stomach.

Louis stiffens and comes a few seconds later, throwing his head back to let out a moan that’s absolutely obscene as Harry whispers his name. He lets himself fall onto Harry’s chest, his arms a little shaky with the effort of keeping himself up, and Harry combs his fingers through his sweaty hair and traces the shape of his nose, his mouth, his cheekbones.

“Did I ever tell you your cheekbones look like they were sculpted from marble?” Harry asks, and Louis opens his eyes to meet Harry’s, long eyelashes fluttering. “Well, they do. You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful too,” Louis whispers sweetly, then ruins the romance with, “now hold still so I can pull out.”

Harry laughs helplessly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis says, leaning up to kiss him again. Their faces are flushed and sweaty, and Harry is so happy that Louis had this brilliant idea for them to spend the day like this.

Happy… and safe. That's how he always feels with Louis, how he’s learned to feel because of him. He’s learned how to trust someone, to love and be loved, to find security in someone else’s arms. He’s learned it's okay to make mistakes, because Louis will be there to catch him, no matter how far he falls.

“I love that you always take care of me,” Harry mumbles, sated and sappy. “Love that you always know what I need, love that you fuck me so well. Love being yours.”

“Love calling you mine,” Louis answers, his voice blissed out and wistful. “Love coming home to you, love making love to you, love thinking about forever with you.”

Harry’s stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a massive grumble, which sets the two of them into giggles. “Good thing you made us get sandwiches,” Harry points out, and Louis shifts off him so that Harry can climb out of bed and swipe the to-go box from where they’d tossed it on the desk. He gets into bed and slides under the covers, lifting them so Louis can get in, and they spend the afternoon naked in bed, feeding each other bits of their sandwiches and trading kisses and making each other laugh.

It’s a perfect afternoon.

*

Harry looks up to see Zayn and Liam entering the living room, their faces flushed and their smiles bashful. Louis, Niall, and Harry are surrounded by half-empty pizza boxes and entirely-empty bottles of beer, and they’ve been waiting for Zayn and Liam to get them more beer for _at least_ ten minutes now. The guilty parties’ faces flush, if possible, even deeper at the expectant looks on their roommates’ faces..

“Took you two long enough,” Niall says, ever glib. “Thought you were just going to get us another round.”

“Yeah, there was, uh…” Zayn tries, looking helplessly to Liam, eyes begging for an out.

“Had to dig through the fridge,” Liam says loudly, losing the fight against his blushing laughter. “Couldn’t find the beer at first.”

“So where is it?” Harry asks.

“Where’s what?” Liam asks.

“The beer.” When Liam freezes, looking guiltily at his empty hands, Harry snorts. “That’s what I thought.”

“Next time you want to go make out in the kitchen, you should be a little more subtle about it,” Louis offers lightly. “Should take some pointers from me and Harry.”

“Right, like the two of you are any better,” says Niall.

“Yeah, what about the time that I saw--”

“Alright, Liam, that’s enough,” Harry cuts in. “Let’s go get drinks. Zayn, you can stay here.”

Zayn pouts but takes a seat on the floor as Harry stands up, steps over Louis’ outstretched legs, and pulls Liam into the kitchen.

Liam looks sheepish when it takes barely any time for Harry to pull five bottles out of the fridge and give two of them to Liam. When they get back to the living room, Zayn, Louis and Niall are huddled around the phone in Niall’s hand.

“What are we staring at?”

“We’re debating the merits of actually going out tonight,” Louis says, taking the offered bottle and scooting over so Harry has room to sit down next to him, their backs pressed up against the couch. “Or trying to decide if we should stay in instead.”

“I vote stay,” Harry says immediately, and Liam agrees. “We should have a night just the five of us, you know…” The _before everything changes_ goes unsaid, but he knows they hear it.

“Well then, it’s settled,” Niall says, passing the bottle opener around. “We can stay in and get very drunk without having to worry how we’re going to get home.”

So that’s exactly what they do, the pile of empty bottles growing on the table as they talk about deep things like how much they would need to be paid to dye their hair purple (“I’d do it for twenty bucks, it’s just hair,” offers Niall) and how they’re going to survive without one another.

“I know we’ll be fine,” Harry slurs, “but it’s just gonna be so different.”

He’s got his head in Liam’s lap as he lays on the floor, and Niall’s playing with his hair, running fingers through the strands and lamenting to himself that he never learned to braid.

“I can show you, Hazza can be our model,” Louis offers when he hears, but then he gets distracted by the thread of conversation.

“D’you remember,” Liam says, “that time sophomore year when we had that massive snowstorm and went sledding with trays we stole from the dining hall?”

“Or when I got us all weed for the first time and we sat behind the president’s house and smoked,” Louis says. “Can’t believe we had the balls to do that.”

“That was _awful_ weed, Lou. Didn’t the guy you brought it from end up going to jail a few days later?” Zayn says, laughing at the memory.

“No, I think he just got kicked out of school. Don’t think the two were related, though. The weed being awful and getting kicked out, I mean.”

“I thought Harry was gonna die, to be honest,” Niall offers, and Harry glares. “He kept coughing, and I just kept thinking, ‘Any second now and I’m about to see a human lung.’”

“I have bad lungs! You know that’s why I don’t smoke.”

“Whatever you say, baby,” Louis says indulgently. He takes a long swig of beer and passes the bottle over to Harry, who sits up and rests his shoulder against Liam’s so he can take a drink. “What about the time that we all skipped class to go to that music festival downtown only to find out it was the night before and we missed it?”

“God, you were so mad. I thought you were going to be angry about that forever.”

“I still am,” Louis grumbles.

“What about when we all went to the bars for the first time and Niall nearly got us kicked out ‘cause he got into an argument with a Yankees fan?”

“That was _totally_ worth it,” Niall argues, and Harry laughs, remembering how Niall’s face was bright red from beer and anger, his fists raised, ready to defend his favorite sports team like they were a scorned lady.

“Remember the semester Niall lived in the frat and we all lost power in the dorms and we went and slept there for two days?” Louis asks.

Harry laughs. “And all we ate that whole time was ramen?”

“And all we drank was beer,” Liam adds, grinning.

“And his housemates were mad because we made so much noise,” Zayn says.

“And then they basically kicked me out of the house,” Niall says, laughing. “So I got stuck with you fuckers again.”

“You love us,” Harry says, pinching Niall’s cheek before opening another beer.

“I love you all so fucking much,” Niall says quietly, and his throat sounds choked with tears. He grabs the bottle from Harry and brings it to his lips.

“Me too,” Zayn says. “Don’t know what the last four years would’ve been without you.”

“Can you imagine if we’d never met? Like if me ‘n’ Lou ‘n’ Zayn had all stayed in the UK?” Liam says. “Or if Harry went to the South for college like he wanted to. Or if Louis hadn’t gotten injured and graduated on time. What would that have been like?”

“A lot less exciting, that’s for sure,” Louis says, locking eyes with Harry as he takes a sip of beer. Harry stares at him, transfixed by the way his throat moves as he swallows. Louis winks at him and Harry wants to kiss that knowing look off his face, wants to cover Louis’ whole body in kisses until he’s covered in lovebites, wants to curl up next to him and never let him go.

That’s not possible right now, so he settles for blowing him a kiss and turning back to the conversation.

“I love you guys,” Niall says, and Harry is really trying to remember that this isn’t the definitive end of college, that there’s still a bit left, but it’s getting really hard not to be weepy about it.

When Niall pulls them in for a group hug and Louis presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, he’s thankful he’s got someone by his side who knows him so well.

*

Harry’s leaving his last-ever senior seminar class when he gets a call from Louis. Louis calls him all the time, usually to ask what they’re going to have for dinner or to tell him random stories of his day even if they’ve just seen each other a half hour before, so it’s not really that much of a surprise to see his name on the screen. Harry likes to make a fuss about it, says that it’s easier just to text, but secretly he loves hearing the sound of Louis’ voice, no matter how silly the question.

“Hey babe, what’s-” he starts, only to be be cut off by Louis’ hurried words.

“Hi, baby. I’m gonna need you to come home immediately.”

“What is it, are you okay?” Harry asks, his mind running through a list of all the things that could have happened. His mum, or one of Louis’ sisters, or his nan -- she’d had a bit of a health scare last month, what if --

“No, no, it’s only good things,” Louis promises, and Harry feels his shoulders fall down from around his ears, feels the air enter his lungs again. Maybe it’s a sex thing? Harry likes all of Louis’ sex things.

“Okay, I just have to run this paper from my class to the registrar’s office.”

“Hurry, babe,” Louis says, his voice a little breathy and high, and Harry can easily picture him in the dark of their bedroom, naked in the center of their bed, one hand pressed up --

No, no, enough of that later.

“I will, but you’ve gotta let me get off the phone first,” Harry says, and Louis chuckles and says goodbye.

The registrar seems even slower than usual, the old woman behind the desk moving at a pace far too glacial for Harry’s liking. His fingers twitch over the phone in his pocket, and he’s three seconds from giving up and rushing home when they finally call him to the window.

He opts to run home rather than taking the bus, hoping that his legs can carry him quicker than the bus can. He hates surprises, is terrible at keeping them and even more terrible at knowing that one’s being kept from him, and he just wants to know what Louis is so excited about.

Louis jumps up from the couch the second that Harry pushes open the door to the living room. He’s absolutely beaming, happier than Harry’s seen him in months.

Harry drops his bag to the ground and crosses the space between them; they meet in the center of the room, their lips finding each other first, their bodies crashing together half a second later.

“Hi,” Harry says between kisses so deep that he feels a bit woozy. “What’s the news, come on, tell me, spit it out.”

He pulls away and fists his hands in the bottom of Louis’ shirt, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he looks into Louis’ eyes. Could it be--

“I got the job,” Louis says, and there’s a moment when he can’t hear anything else, the only noise the rushing in his ears.

“You got the job,” Harry repeats, feeling a bit like a robot. “The admissions rep job, the one you interviewed for? The one here.”

“Yes,” Louis says with a laugh. “That’s what I just said, yeah?”

“You’re staying.”

“Yes! Were you listening to anything I said?”

“Honestly, no. I couldn’t hear anything after ‘I got the job’ because I think I blacked out for a second.” He takes another deep breath, and Louis is beaming as Harry lets it sinks in.

They’re staying. Holy shit they’re _staying_ , Louis has a job and Louis doesn’t have to leave Harry and this is the best day of his _life_.

“You got the job!” he yells as he picks Louis up and whirls him around the room.

“I got the job!” Louis yells back, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and holding on tight as Harry keeps spinning them until he’s dizzy and out of breath.

“We’re gonna stay here,” Harry says, setting Louis back on solid ground so he can cup his face in two hands and kiss him. It’s soft and sweet and he hopes that Louis can tell how _happy_ he is just from how he tastes

“I love you,” Louis whispers when they break apart, resting his forehead against Harry’s so he can catch his breath. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I’m so proud of you. Congratulations.”

“I thought I was gonna go crazy waiting for you to come home. I got the call and I just sat here for a couple minutes in shock. I don’t even remember what I was doing when they called, I just…”

Harry grabs hm by the waist and kisses him again. “I knew you could do it, Lou, I just knew that you would be perfect, you’re the best.”

“I think it was your egg on toast that did it,” Louis says, his smile bright.

“Gonna make you egg on toast every day for the rest of our lives if that’s what you want,” Harry promises. “Oh my god, we’re gonna eat breakfast together every day.”

“Yes, Harold, that is generally what happens when people decide to move in together.”

“Yes, but… you and I are going to live together. It’s actually happening.”

“It’s actually happening,” Louis repeats, and he has to take a shaky breath to calm himself.

“We’ll have to celebrate,” Harry decides. “Come on, let’s go get changed, I’ll take you out to dinner.” He’s pretty sure there’s somewhere he needs to be later this afternoon, but fuck it, this is way more important.

“It’s 3 pm,” Louis argues, looking at his phone to check the time.

“Then a late lunch, I don’t care, whatever you want. This is a massive deal. A life changing deal.”

“We don’t have to--”

“Lou,” Harry chuckles, “stop fighting me on this. I’m taking you out and showing you off and we’re gonna _celebrate_.”

*

They’re sitting at the table, debating the merits of dessert (namely: should they get just one or go for two), when Louis gets a phone call.

“It’s the leasing agent,” he whispers, eyes wide, handing the menu to Harry. “I called him earlier.”

“You told the leasing agent you got a job before you told me?”

“No, I left him a message when you were in the loo,” Louis says, like it’s obvious, then swipes his finger across the screen. “Hi, yes, this is Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry can’t hear what the agent is saying, but Louis is saying things like, “Yes, two bedrooms if we can squeeze it with our budget,” and “Close to the train would be great,” and “Okay, we’ll see you Tuesday,” and he thinks that all means good news.

Louis gives a breathless little laugh when he lays his phone on the table, and Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So?”

“So, he said he thinks he’s got a few places that would be perfect for us, and we’re gonna go see them on Tuesday. I hope you didn’t have plans.”

“No, no. Well, I do, but I’ll cancel. Wow,” Harry laughs breathlessly. “Places for just the two of us. Our first home. _Next week_ , Lou. You and me.”

Louis laughs too, and takes Harry’s hand. “Wow is right.”

*

Harry’s in a good mood when he picks up two coffees and sets out to find Louis. _Sitting on the campus lawn,_  his text message had said, but that’s not very helpful. On a day like today, the sun shining bright in the sky and no more classes left in the semester, the lawn’s bound to be crowded with people.

He gets there and discovers that he was right; there’s hardly any green space left. There’s loud music playing from speakers in one corner, girls in bikinis tanning and lots of shirtless boys. A few people are studying but the majority seem to have abandoned their textbooks in favor of lounging. He’s sure Louis is doing the same, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find him in this crowd.

Harry eventually spots him laying on his stomach facing the opposite direction; if not for his fluffy hair and a pair of ankles that Harry would recognize anywhere crossed in the air, Harry probably would have spent another ten minutes searching.

He sneaks up behind Louis, making sure his footsteps are quiet. Louis is on the phone, his tone animated and happy and the sound of it makes Harry smile; a happy Louis is a happy Harry, and they’ve both been joyful over the last few days. He’d known that Louis was stressed and anxious, but Harry had forgotten just how _free_ he could be without all of that weighing him down. It’s so nice to have that boy back.

“Yeah, I loved that one,” Louis is saying as Harry approaches. “But did you see the other one that I emailed you? I feel like he’d like that one too.” There’s a pause, and Louis laughs. “Yeah, I just want it to be perfect. You know how he is, Anne.”

Harry nearly drops the coffees he’s holding right onto his clueless boyfriend -- Louis is talking to his _mum_? Why?

Now seems like as good a time as any to announce his arrival, so he lightly bumps Louis’ outstretched leg with his thigh and watches as Louis’ body contorts in surprise. Harry nearly drops the coffees again, barely avoiding being kicked by Louis, and takes a seat a foot away, where things seem safer.

“Yeah, thanks so much, I actually gotta go. Bye,” Louis says in a rush, dropping his phone to the ground. “Hi, baby.”

He leans up for a kiss, and Harry’s mouth is just inches away from making contact before he pulls back. “Why were you talking to my mum?”

The corner of Louis’ mouth twitches ever so slightly, and if Harry didn’t know this boy so well, if he hadn’t catalogued every one of his microexpressions and meaningful looks, he wouldn’t notice. But he has, has had nearly four years to memorize them all, and so he does. He narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious.

“N--no,” Louis stutters. “Why would I be talking to your mum? Ooh, is that coffee?”

“I heard you say Anne,” Harry continues, holding he coffees just out of Louis’ reac. “How many Annes do you know?”

“Oh, you heard that? We were just talking about the flat,” Louis says quickly, and Harry can’t suppress the butterflies in his stomach when he remembers their new place, which they had gone to see earlier in the week and fallen in love with immediately. It’s a couple of blocks from the train and the space isn’t huge, but it’s going to be theirs in a month. He can’t believe it. “She wants to send us a rug.”

Louis isn’t a very good liar, and Harry’s eyes narrow further. “I’ve already got a rug,” he says.

“Well yes, Harold,” Louis says, rolling onto his back so that he’s looking up at Harry upside down. “But we’re gonna have to decorate more than one room, you see. Because we’ll have more space. Now, can I please have my coffee? Also a kiss.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“May I have a kiss _please_ , Mr. Styles. Honestly I swear, you were much less bossy before you became a teacher.”

Harry grumbles in complaint but dutifully leans down to give Louis a upside down kiss all the same.

“Thank you,” he says when Harry hands him the coffee and takes a sip. “How was the study session?”

“Was fine,” Harry says, setting his coffee carefully in the grass and laying down next to Louis, tangling their fingers together in the strip of grass between them. He tilts his face towards the sky and closes his eyes. “Do you talk to my mum a lot?”

“Once in a while,” Louis says, and his words sound careful and measured. “She calls me sometimes. I think my mum asked her to, since she worries.”

That’s...sweet. A little weird, but sweet all the same.

“What do you talk about?”

“How terrible you are,” Louis answers immediately, and Harry opens his eyes to find Louis grinning at him, full of mischief. “Nah, we just talk about like...I dunno. You, basically. How much we love you.”

Harry wants to say something snarky, but that’s hard to do when Louis is watching him like he’s seeing constellations being formed in the sky. “I love you,” he says instead, resting his head on Louis’ chest. “I’m glad my mum loves you.”

“Me too. It makes it a lot easier.”

“It does,” Harry agrees, thinking of his summer visit to England and how glad he was to get along so well with Louis’ family too. “Hey, can we go back to Doncaster this summer, if we can afford the flights? I know your mum’s coming for graduation, but I’d like to go back and see them all again.”

Louis inhales sharply and kisses the top of his head. “Absolutely. I’d love that. It… it means a lot that you would want to do that.”

“Course I would, Lou. They’re important to you, which means they’re important to me. Plus, if I’m stealing you away from them to live here permanently, I owe your mum a big apology.”

Louis laughs. “My mum loves that I’ve got you, I think she’s not going to need much of an apology.”

“Still,” Harry says. “I’d like to all the same.”

“Alright,” Louis says, humming against the top of Harry’s head.

Harry could fall asleep right there, if he wanted to, Louis’ soft breathing and warm chest anchoring him to the ground. He’s always been sappy about the way he feels about Louis but this week especially, with graduation looming and a signed lease cementing their future together, he feels overly so. He can’t help but think that no matter what he does with Louis, even the tiniest things like laying in the grass on a warm afternoon at the beginning of May, he always feels _happy_.

And that’s the best feeling of all.

*

The last exam week of their college careers passes in the blink of an eye. Louis spends the first half of the week in the library, receptive to Harry’s offers to bring him tea and mac and cheese and freshly made chocolate chip cookies, but then shoving him back out the door with promises to be home before he falls asleep in the chair.

“He’s already got a job though,” Niall comments in the kitchen one morning after they’ve said goodbye to a panicking Louis. “Why’s he working so hard?”

“Dunno,” Harry says blearily, rubbing his eyes and trying to refocus on the textbook in front of him. “Think he’s trying to prove to himself he can do it.”

“Good for him,” Niall answers absently. “Wish _we_ could get jobs though.”

“Tell me about it.”

When Louis comes home from his last ever exam as a college student, he ties Harry to their bed with two ties, one belonging to each of them, and fucks him until they’re both crying with it.

“We did it,” he says, pressing the words against Harry’s temple when they’re cuddled together afterward. “No more exams, no more school. We really, did it, me and you.”

“We did,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Always knew we would though. So proud of us. Gonna be even prouder of you later tonight though.”

“Don’t wanna get up,” Louis mumbles. “Want to stay here forever.”

“No, no, you’re going,” Harry forces himself to say, though he’s deeply tempted to spend the afternoon going for rounds two and three. “You’ve got a play to star in and I’m gonna be in the front row again.”

“You always are,” Louis mumbles through a kiss.

“It’s cause I love you. So, so much.”

“I know, baby. I love you just as much.”

“Love you more.”

“No, I love you more.”

“Lou, get outta here,” Harry says, pretending to push him off the bed. They’re hopeless, so very gross that if it were anyone else he’d make fun of them for the rest of their life. “Go shower and get going.”

*

Harry’s buying flowers at the grocery store when his phone rings. He cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he continues looking through the bundles on offer, needing something perfect, and none of these are exactly what he’s looking for.

“Hi, I’m calling for Mr. Harry Styles?”

“This is he,” Harry replies absently, considering a bouquet of gardenias before deciding against them. “How can I help you?”

“Mr. Styles, my name is Joe Waters, I’m calling from the public school department. Is now a good time for you to speak about your application for the substitute teacher position?”

Harry looks around as his heart starts to race; he’s alone in the aisle and the store’s not too crowded. Now seems as good a time as any, and if it’s bad news no one will see him cry. He drops the basket to the floor and holds his phone up against his ear properly, now prepared to give this conversation his full attention. He takes a deep breath, then, “Now is good.”

“Great. Mr. Styles, we’d like to offer you a position in our substitute teaching program, contingent on you earning your certification this summer.”

“Holy -- are you serious?”

Mr. Waters laughs. “Quite serious, I assure you. The committee was very impressed with your application and Jake Menino’s recommendation.”

God bless that man, Harry thinks, and then he can’t hear anything at all for a few seconds because he’s having what must be either a heart attack or an existential crisis. Holy fuck, he just got offered a _job_ . It’s not the first grade position he wanted but it’s a job, a real job with benefits and a step forward in his _career_.

“I understand this next week is very busy for you, so could you come in during the last week of May to fill out the paperwork? Assuming you’d like to accept, of course. Unless you need more time--”

“No, no, I don’t,” Harry says immediately. More time? Not a chance in hell. “I’d love to accept. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Styles. Congratulations.”

He hangs up the phone and feels a bit dizzy, has to lean forward and rest his forehead against a shelf in front of him so as not to fall over. His mind is spinning with information, the instructions that are going to be emailed to him and the formal contract to follow and the fact that he’s got a real, proper job now. It’s not perfect, and he’ll probably have to supplement with other income because it doesn’t pay that well, but it’s a _job_.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to call Louis, but halfway through the first ring he realizes that Louis is in last minute rehearsals for the play tonight, no phones allowed. _Fuck_. His skin itches with the need to talk to Louis, wants him to be the first to know but doesn’t think he can keep this a secret for the hours it’ll be until he gets Louis alone again.

He’ll have to.

He stands up and catches sight of the bouquets of flowers he’d been perusing, none of them exactly right for Louis. Well, now that he’s got a job, he can afford to splurge.

“Hi, I’d like to buy a bouquet of flowers for my boyfriend. The prettiest you can make, please,” he tells the florist.

He leaves the grocery store with a ridiculously expensive, perfect bouquet and it’s totally worth it.

*

The gang’s all here in the front row for the show, Harry right in the middle like he prefers. The spring musical is Jersey Boys and Harry doesn’t know much about it, other than the fact that Louis has to fake an American accent for the entirety of the performance, much to Harry’s amusement.

“Aw, I love these little things,” Zayn says from his right, flipping through the program. “All these cute secret messages.”

“Secret messages?” Harry asks, peering over at the program. The page is covered in advertisements, shoutouts to students in the show, parents paying to tell their kids how proud they are of them.

“My mum did one of those for the senior edition of my high school newspaper,” he tells Zayn, thinking back to the half-page advertisement covered in baby pictures and a note about how much she loved him. “It was a bit embarrassing.”

“We should’ve done one for Lou,” Zayn says, a little sadly like he can’t believe he thought up the most brilliant prank ever after it was too late to use. “Could’ve made a list of all the embarrassing things he’s ever done.”

Harry sets the flowers on the ground next to his feet carefully and opens his program. He starts flicking through it, lingering on the black and white headshot of Louis and the bio printed next to it.

 _Louis Tomlinson, who plays the role of Tommy, is thrilled to be in his sixth show as a member of the University Players. Past roles have included Danny in_ Grease _, Roger in_ Rent _and Henry in_ Next to Normal. _Louis, who was born in Doncaster, England, is a senior in the College of Arts & Sciences. He would like to thank the Players for four years of fun, laughter and troublemaking. Much love to his family for their encouragement, to Liam, Niall and Zayn for their love and support, and to Harry, for everything. _

Harry tries to tamp down the butterflies in his stomach, because he _can’t_ get weepy about a line in a program, especially when it’s a sentiment he’s heard thousands of times before, has read before in programs just like this, even. The emotions of an impending graduation and saying goodbye to the boys beside him and _finally_ getting a job today must be getting to him.

Zayn, Liam and Niall are in the middle of playing _let’s make up stories about the people around us_ and there seems to be no sign of the show starting anytime soon, so Harry keeps turning pages until he gets to the advertisements.

The messages are sweet, cute inside jokes and supportive comments. He reads through them with a smile on his face, laughing at a pun that one of the juniors wrote, smiling at a picture of a girl hugging her girlfriend; he recognizes the couple from Louis’ photos from theater club parties. The lights are lowering just as he reads the last one, and his heart jumps into his throat.

_Thank you Styles for making me egg on toast every day. Love, Boo._

The message is small, just two lines of text centered in a black box, but it still hits him like a sledgehammer. Egg on toast, that’s _their thing_ , it’s their good luck thing and it’s been said by Boo. Harry’s never let it go that Louis’ mum used to call him Boo growing up, and surely there’s no other Styles in this theater tonight. It’s him. This little thanks for egg on toast has rocked his world.

The theater goes dark just as Harry’s processing the fact that Louis wrote _a secret message to him_ in the program. Probably paid a decent amount of money for it too. He wants to elbow Zayn and proclaim, “Hey, look what my Louis did, look what he did for me,” but the curtain’s opening and he can’t.

When Louis steps out onto the stage, Harry feels a surge of pride like nothing before, wants to run up there and kiss Louis in front of the hundreds of people sitting in this room, wants to thank him a hundred times over for all he’s done.

He settles for smiling as big as he can and trying not to burst while he watches Louis do the thing he loves best.

*

For five shows, Harry’s been first in line at the stage door to give Louis a _Congratulations, you killed it_ hug and for the last four of them, a kiss to go with it. He had every intention of continuing that record, but he got derailed by the mother of one of his students from the elementary school, who only had great things to say about the show and was so thrilled to hear that “that lovely boy who played one of the leads” was his boyfriend. By the time he gets to where he’d planned to meet Louis, there’s already a line formed for autographs. Louis is still in the costume he’d worn for final bows, well-fitting black dress pants and a crisp white shirt, and it makes Harry’s throat go dry.

He leans against the opposite wall, a little out of sight, his arms crossed as he watches Louis interact with a group of little kids. He’s so _good_ , so happy and joyful, asking them questions about the show and making funny faces and posing for as many pictures as they want. Harry’s heart hurts a little bit when he thinks about how much he loves Louis, all the things he’d do just to see him smile like that forever.

Louis sends the kids on their way with big hugs, and then signs autographs for a couple of students as well. Harry feels like he should be surprised that Louis has admirers, but then again, Harry’s the biggest admirer Louis has ever had. He knows how easy Louis makes it to love him.

“Well, hello there,” Louis says, ambling up to him in the one moment Harry’s distracted and looking the other way. Knowing Louis, he did that on purpose. “Fancy seeing you here.”

The moment that he makes eye contact, his bright blue eyes searching Harry’s face, Harry feels all the wild love come rushing back with the force of a tidal wave.

“I love you,” he gets out. “I love you and you were brilliant and I really, really wanna kiss you right now. Can I kiss you?”

“You can,” Louis allows with a laugh, and then Harry’s surging forward, one hand cupping Louis’ cheek as their lips make contact. It’s needy, it’s hurried, it’s Harry pouring all this emotion of the day into Louis and hoping he understands. The flowers are sandwiched between them, and a desire not to completely crush them is the only thing that lets Harry pull away.

“Hi, baby,” Louis says, his forehead resting against Harry’s, and Harry smiles, going cross-eyed as he tries to make eye contact. “Thanks for coming to the show.”

“Babe,” Harry says, pulling away to hand Louis the flowers with a flourish. “You were absolutely wonderful. So, so good. Best performance I’ve seen from you.”

“Well -- these are gorgeous, by the way, thank you -- I did have my best cheerleader in the front row.”

“Well, _Boo_ , I try my best.”

Louis flushes bright red. “So you saw my note then?” He’s staring determinedly at the floor but chances a glance back up to Harry, looking up at him through his long eyelashes. He looks far too uncertain for a boy who holds Harry’s entire heart in his hands.

“ _Loved_ your note, Lou. I nearly ran up on stage to kiss you when I realized.”

Louis giggles, actually _giggles_. “Thank you, really, for everything. I’m so lucky I have you. So, so lucky.” He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and squeezes, and Harry gets that feeling he’s gotten at random moments for the past few weeks -- now? Is it now? Is he gonna propose now?

He hates that this is how he feels, and he hates the crushing disappointment that follows every time he thinks _this might be it_ and nerves rise in his stomach and his heart starts to beat at twice the normal rate and then -- nope. Nothing. Not when they went to the diner for lunch the other night and sat in the booth they sat in that very first time, not when they went for the walk at sunset along the river, and not when Louis woke him up in the middle of the night with a kiss and a “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He hates that even more, because it feels so entitled. He knows Louis is going to do it when the time is right, but he still gets disappointed based on his own high expectations.It’s not Louis’ fault that Harry thinks every time he bends to tie his shoes, he’s going to whip out a ring.

And it’s _fine_ , it really is; after his conversation with Niall and Liam a few weeks ago, he’s realized that _of course_ Louis wants to marry him, and he’d been worried for nothing. But being reminded that Louis is definitely going to propose doesn’t make him want it any less, and that’s what’s so hard. He’s pretty sure Gemma’s sick of him talking about it, if her “shut up and propose if it bothers you so much” responses are anything to go by.

But still. He wants to be engaged.

“Hey, listen,” Louis says, breaking into Harry’s thoughts. “I need to go back to the dressing room and change. Do you want to meet me at home?”

“You don’t want to go out?”

“I do, but I don’t want you to have to wait for me here. Could be a while.”

“Nah, I’ll wait. Zayn and Liam are probably making out in a broom closet somewhere anyway, I’ll find them,” Harry says, and Louis laughs, loud and deep. “Hey, wait, I’ve got news.”

He’d entirely forgotten, had planned to wait until they got home, but now suddenly feels like the perfect time.

“What?”

“I got a job. The substitute teaching job.”

Louis takes a step back, his mouth falling open in shock. “Are you fucking serious?”

Harry feels his smile growing. “I’m fucking serious.”

Louis reaches over to deposit his flowers on a nearby table, and there’s a split second where Harry’s not sure what’s going on but then Louis surges forward to kiss him, one leg already slotting in between Harry’s open legs as he pushes him back against the brick wall. The kiss is messy, Louis’ hands running up under Harry’s shirt and scratching at his chest, Louis’ tongue moving against his, Louis’ leg winding against Harry’s hip like he if he tries hard enough, he can climb up the length of Harry’s body.

“So fucking proud of you, I can’t believe you, I knew you could do it,” Louis says when he pulls away, his breathing is as labored as Harry’s. They did it; they’ve got real adult jobs and a place to live and they’re going to make this work.

“Okay, I have to go,” Louis says, pulling away with a quick kiss, “but stay right there and I’ll be back in five minutes and I’ll take you home.”

“What--we’re not going out?” Harry asks, blinking in surprise.

“No, no way. We can go out tomorrow night. Tonight is for you and me.”

“Okay,” Harry says easily, because he’s never going to say no to a change in plans like that.

“Okay,” Louis says, his hand on the doorknob as he leaves but his eyes on Harry. “I’ll be right back.”

*

Somewhere in the heat of the bar a clock ticks over to midnight, and a mysterious hand pushes a drink into Harry’s hand. He downs it in one gulp, then pulls Louis closer to his front so he can grind against his ass among the close press of other bodies.

“We’re graduating _today_ ,” Louis yells over his shoulder, and he has to repeat it twice before Harry can hear what he’s said.

“I know!” Harry yells back.

Everything about the night is a cloud of alcohol and hugging people close and saying “I’ll definitely call you!” and knowing there will be no phone call and reminiscing on that terrible group project and that fire alarm freshman year and all those times they lingered for an extra hour in the dining hall because the conversation was so good.

Harry keeps getting pulled away from Louis and then being drawn back to him; it’s confusing because it’s Harry’s instinct to seek out Louis, but he will always be with Harry when these other people aren’t anymore. He’s not taking Louis for granted, it’s just--

“I’m not taking you for granted,” Harry says, stumbling over his words as he tries to be heard over the music.

“What?”

“I don’t take you for granted, do I?”

“What are you on about, Haz?” Louis asks, turning in Harry’s arms, a bit of his beer sloshing out of the sides of his glass. They’re sharing about six inches of floor space.

“If I want to talk to other people tonight. Because I’ll have you forever. You won’t think I’m taking you for granted, right?” Harry’s voice goes urgent as he asks, but he _needs_ Louis to understand.

“Harry, you can talk to anyone else you want. Just come back to me at the end of the night,” Louis answers, poking him in the chest.

“Okay, good,,” Harry says in relief, wrapping two fingers around Louis’ wrist and pulling his hand away. “I’m gonna go talk to Ed. I love you,” he says very seriously, dropping a kiss to Louis’ forehead.

“Love you too. Now go, I have people to talk to as well.”

They find each other again just before last call, after Harry’s talked to Ed and Leigh-Anne and Perrie and Clara and Robby and what feels like every other senior he’s ever met, all of them crowded into this bar for their last night of college.

“Hey, handsome. Wanna buy me a drink?” Louis asks, using that voice that could get Harry to do anything; Harry nods, his face flushed from alcohol and the emotions of this night.

“Course, Lou.”

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” Louis says, hopping up on a bar stool as they wait for the drinks, licking his thumb and rubbing at Harry’s cheek. Harry smiles into it, knowing it’ll create a dimple that Louis can’t resist. “Lipstick. Have you been -- are you seeing another woman, Harold?” Louis sounds outraged, drawing his hand to his chest in horror.

“Only you,” Harry promises sweetly, leaning in to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek, though he won’t be leaving any lipstick marks behind. Those had come from a gaggle of girls from his education seminar, a few of whom had shed a few tears when they said goodbye. “Just you.”

They’re still kissing when the bar lights are turned on a while later, their drinks half full on the counter in front of them, a string of purple bruises growing deeper in color along Harry’s jaw, Louis’ lips swollen and wet and pink, both of them wearing satisfied smiles.

And that’s it, the bar’s closed, it’s graduation day, it’s over.

Except that’s not it, because they’ve still got drinks to finish and there are more kisses to be stolen before Niall threatens to leave without them. So with flushed faces and giddy smiles, they leave their glasses on the bar and follow Niall outside like a pair of ducklings.

No one wants to go home quite yet, that much is clear, because the city street outside is crowded with students, hugging and crying and making promises to meet again. Going home would mean accepting that it’s over, that in a mere few hours they have to put on ugly polyester robes and dorky hats and cross a stage to become graduates.

No, if they stay awake they can pretend that’s not happening.

“You wanna get pizza?” Louis asks, and something swells up inside of Harry that makes him want to cry. It’s exactly like the thousands of other times they’ve done this, except for that this is the _last_ time.

“Yeah,” Harry says with a sniffle, focusing on the crowd packed in tightly against them. “Let’s get pizza.”

He doesn’t actually cry until they’re back outside on the sidewalk a half hour later, a slice of sausage and onion pizza cradled in his palm. He catches sight of the bagel place across the street, where he and Niall went on the first morning freshman year, both of them suffering the first of many hangovers to come, and he can’t stop the sudden tears.

“Baby,” Louis says, wrapping a hand around his waist and guiding him to sit down on a nearby stoop. Niall sits at his feet, and Zayn and Liam stand in front of them like protectors from the passing crowd.

“I d-don’t want it to be over,” Harry cries. “I didn’t th-think it would be over this quick.” He hiccups, and the tears fall even harder. Louis rubs his back and Niall’s patting at his knee and he feels the full weight of all the things they’ve done in the past four years and all the things they didn’t get to do; this can’t be _it_ , it can’t just be over like this.

“It’s okay,” Liam says, bending down to hug Harry. The angle is awkward, but he wraps his arms around Liam’s neck and clings, letting himself be comforted.

“We’re not disappearing,” Zayn tells him gently. “You and Louis are still gonna be here, and so is Niall, working at that museum job, and Liam and I are gonna be in England. But we’ll still be around.”

“We’re not leaving _you_ , Harry,” Liam reminds him, and when he pulls back from their hug Harry automatically cuddles up to Louis, making himself small. Louis drops a kiss to the crown of his head. “It’ll just be different.”

“A new adventure,” Niall says, but his eyes are filled with tears too.

“What d’you say we get out of here and have this conversation at home?” Louis suggests. “Could do with some food and a beer.”

“You just had pizza,” Liam points out, and Louis shrugs.

“Uh, lads,” Zayn says, pulling out his phone and lighting up the screen to show them the time. “The train’s closed.”

“We could get a cab,” Liam offers, but one glance at the crowd still gathered on the sidewalk tells them that would be nearly impossible.

“We can walk,” Harry says, wiping his eyes and grabbing onto Louis’ offered arm to pull himself to standing. “It’ll help us sober up.”

In his haze of sadness and nostalgia, Harry severely underestimated the distance from their favorite bar to their apartment. The others either did the same or weren’t paying attention to his suggestion, because they’ve walked for more than twenty minutes now and it feels like they’re no closer than when they started.

“This is so far,” Harry whines to Louis.

“Well, baby, this _was_ your idea.”

“What if we just get a cab from here?” Harry says.

“I don’t want to pay for one now, not when we’re definitely at least halfway there,” Liam protests.

“Of course _you’d_ say that,” Zayn grumbles. “You run nine miles every weekend for fun.” Harry grimaces; he, on the other hand, hasn’t worked out at all since their race, preferring to stay in bed next to a warm, snuggly Louis.

Sex is exercise, he reassures himself.

“There’s no way we’re halfway,” Harry argues.

“We are, look, there’s the burrito place. We’ll be home soon.”

Harry makes a face, but concedes that Liam is right.

They’re nearly to their apartment, the five of them engaged in wildly off-topic conversations to distract from the fact that they’re graduating in mere hours, when Harry decides they need a photo of the five of them on their last night as college kids.

So they try, but the impromptu photoshoot quickly gets derailed by Zayn and Liam kissing in the grass and Niall making fun of them. Louis attempts to wrangle them into submission, but shortly he declares it a lost cause.

“Sorry, Hazza,” he says, crawling into Harry’s lap right there on the grass. “I’ll have my mum take one tomorrow.”

“S’okay,” Harry says, brushing his nose against Louis’. “Got a few good outtakes, I think.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the May air warm around them, the chatter of Liam and Niall and Zayn mixing with the more distant noise coming from nearby apartment buildings and the people walking home. Harry still feels sad, but stronger than that is the appreciation he feels for this place and how it built him, for these boys and how they’ve helped shape him into the person he’s become, for a time four years ago where he never could have imagined that this would be his life.

He kisses behind Louis’ ear, his forehead pressed against the side of his head, breathing him in. “I’m so glad I have you.”

“Me too. Always.”

*

Niall is the first of the five of them to cross the stage, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever screamed as loudly as he does in that moment. He jumps to his feet, briefly considers standing on his chair before deciding that’s a bad idea, and _screams_. Across the arena, each of them sitting with their own major, he can hear Louis, Zayn, and Liam doing the same thing, can hear Niall’s dad and brother hollering from their seats above them, can picture Niall’s mum’s proud face beaming as he flips his tassel from the right to the left.

He does the same for Liam and Zayn when their names are called, taking pictures of their beaming faces on the big screens. Zayn gives the camera a smouldering smile and Liam accidentally knocks his cap off his head when he goes to flip the tassel, but they both leave the stage with proud smiles, diplomas in hand.

When it’s Louis’ turn, Harry _does_ end up standing on his chair. He can’t help himself. When he hears, “Louis William Tomlinson, Bachelor of Arts,” his brain whites out and finds himself on top of the chair, whooping and hollering and making a huge fool of himself.

He doesn’t care.

That’s his _boyfriend_ up there, shaking hands with the Dean of his college and accepting his diploma. He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue for the camera and as he flips his tassel, his eyes find Harry’s in the crowd (which is probably not hard, what with Harry still standing on a chair). Harry feels his heart stop, and his stomach swooping as Louis blows him a kiss. Jade, seated right next to him, has to tug at his gown to get him off the chair once Louis is off the stage and they’ve moved on to the next graduate.

“Did you see him, though?” he asks her, breathless and back on solid ground. “He did it. He really did it.”

“I saw,” she says with a smile.

 _YOU DID IT!!!_ , he texts Louis, and Louis responds with a series of thumbs up emojis, a kissing face, and a graduation cap. His second message says _You’re next!!!_ and Harry holds the phone to his chest while seriously considering crying.

No, there’s time for that later. Time for tears of sadness and pride and joy and confusion. Time for it all. But first, he’s got a stage to cross.

*

Harry stands on his tiptoes to look over the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone he knows. He’s already texted his roommates to tell them he’s outside the arena, just like they planned, and is about to fire off another message when a shadow passes in front of him. He looks up just in time to catch Gemma in a hug, her pink hair flying as she collapses onto him.

“Congratulations, squirt,” she says, pinching his cheek. “You did it, even if none of us thought you could. Could you hear us screaming? I was yelling about how awful you are.”

“Gemma Anne,” their mum scolds behind her, gently pushing her out of the way so she can give Harry a hug. “We’re so proud of you. Congratulations.” She grips his chin in her hands and gives him a big smacking kiss on the cheek. He wipes off her lipstick when she pulls away.

“So proud of you, Harry,” Robin says, and he pulls Harry into his arms.

“Let’s get a picture!” Anne calls, pulling Harry and Gemma into her side, Robin following. “Where are the other boys? Where’s Lou?”

“I don’t know, Mum,” he says, looking around for them. Anne hands her camera to a stranger and presents Harry with the bouquet of flowers she’d been holding.

“Smile!”

Zayn shows up a few minutes later, his mum, his dad, and Liam in tow. His mum has a hand around Liam’s waist, and whatever she’s saying looks quite serious. They’d met for the first time only yesterday and both Zayn and Liam had been out of their minds with worry over it, but according to them it  all went well. Liam breaks out into a smile at something Zayn’s mum says, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief on his friends’ behalf.

“Congrats, man,” Harry says as he and Zayn hug. “Where’s Lou and Niall?”

“Dunno, mate, I thought they’d be with you.” Harry shakes his head and checks his phone again, but there’s nothing.

He hears Louis’ arrival before he sees him, because his sister yells “Louis Tomlinson!” and then breaks into a run through the crowd to reach him.

When Gemma reappears dragging Louis behind her, he hugs Anne and Robin like they’re family, and then Niall and his parents show up, Jay and Lottie trailing up behind them.

“Jay!” Harry calls, and he rushes to give her a hug. Everyone’s parents are introduced to everyone else’s, and Harry’s glad that he hadn’t had the time to be worried about meeting the Maliks or the Paynes, or to worry about his mum and Robin meeting Jay in person for the first time; the worrying would have been moot, anyway, as it all goes off without a hitch.

“So far, so good,” Louis says, finally reaching Harry’s a few minutes later. “Congratulations, baby.”

“Congrats to you, too,” Harry says softly, drawing Louis in by the waist and kissing him quickly. There’s more he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t feel comfortable doing much more than that when the full court of their families and friends stands five feet away.

“Gross, go get a room,” Lottie says, and Gemma high fives her.

“Why did we let the two of them meet again?” Louis asks, and Harry groans.

“Absolutely no idea. Big mistake.”

“Come on, kids,” Niall’s mum calls, brandishing a camera. “Let’s get a group photo!”

Harry turns to Louis, tilting his head to the side. “How do I look?”

Louis purses his lips, eyes running up and down Harry’s body. “Eh, you’ve looked better.” Harry pouts, which makes Louis laugh. “No, let me just fix your hat -- yes, okay, right there. Perfect.”

Harry scrunches up his nose and sticks out his tongue, and then Gemma pushes them both into the line.

“Can flirt all you want later, squirt. It’s picture time.”

One group photo turns to two turns to ten turns to twelve million, or a least that’s how it feels.Five mothers means five times the pictures, apparently. It’s hot, and Harry’s polyester gown itches the back of his neck, and he’s hungry.

“I can email you all the ones from my camera,” Zayn tries for the fourth time, but no luck.  They’ve taken so long that the area surrounding the arena is nearly empty.

“Mum, can we please go to dinner,” Harry begs. “Look, there’s hardly anyone here, they’ve all gone home.”

“Just a few more,” Anne promises, and Jay clicks her shutter again. Harry holds onto Louis’ waist and tries to remember that he loves these people, and that they only mean well.

Finally they’re set free, and they all pile in cars to go to the restaurant Niall’s mum reserved for them. Harry tries to go with Louis, wants to rest his head on his shoulder and close his eyes for a few brief moments, but Jay wants to talk to him instead, so they part ways with a hug and say they’ll see each other there.

*

“I’m so proud of all you boys,” Anne says, standing up and raising her glass in a toast. “You’ve all done wonderful and it’s a pleasure to know each one of you.”

“Your mum’s a sap,” Niall whispers to Harry, but Harry’s wiping a few tears away himself. “Though I guess I know where you got it from now.”

Dessert is a giant cake that’s got a picture of the five of them, the selfie that Niall made them take on the first day of senior year. Harry stares at the faces of those five boys, thinking about how little they knew of what was to come during senior year. Breakups and new relationships and broken hearts and too much alcohol and stress and a lot of love and support, and they’ve made it through.

He wipes his tears and smiles, because they did it.

*

They bid their parents farewell with promises to meet them in the morning, and then they all get a cab back to their apartment. Zayn unlocks the door and they let themselves inside. They stand in the hallway, all a bit uncertain about what comes next.

“Well, lads, I’m _exhausted_ ,” Liam says after a minute.

“Me too,” Harry says, his head falling forward against Louis’ shoulder.

“I’m getting a drink and then watching a movie, if anyone wants to join,” Niall says, blowing them a kiss and heading for the kitchen.

“Bed?” Louis asks Harry in a low voice, taking the graduation cap from his hand before Harry’s tired fingers cause it to fall to the ground.

“Bed,” Harry agrees. He follows Louis up the stairs with sluggish steps. He heads straight for the bathroom, while Louis goes to their bedroom.

“You excited for the party?” Louis asks a minute later when he joins Harry in the bathroom.

Oh, right. The party was a drunken idea thought up by Zayn and Louis last week, and the reason they’ve got cases of beer stacked in their kitchen. It’s meant to be a last hurrah. Harry wonders how many last hurrahs they can really have before it all actually ends.

Harry nods, rinsing his mouth and wiping it with a towel. The towel drops to the ground, and he looks at it for a minute, wondering how he missed the counter. Louis gives him an amused smile and picks it up, hanging it where it belongs. He presses a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder and then swats him on the ass.

“Go in, get into bed. I just need to brush my teeth and then I’ll be right in.”

Harry strips off the fancy shirt he wore for the ceremony and takes off his dress pants, nearly tripping as he takes them off. Down to his boxers, he crawls into bed and closes his eyes, listening as Louis turns off the tap.

“Hey,” Louis whispers when he comes in. “You awake?”

Harry makes a little grumbling noise and waits to feel the bed dip as Louis gets in. He turns so that he’s facing him, their faces close together, feet automatically finding each other.

“Your toes are cold,” Harry says, and Louis smiles, apologetic. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Can you talk to me? Tell me a story. Or talk about everything you were thinking today. Just want to hear your voice when I fall asleep.”

“Okay,” Louis says indulgently. “Well this morning I woke up, and I you were still asleep, and you were doing that little snoring thing you do when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.” He laughs at the way Harry wrinkles his nose, annoyed at being called out on it. “And I thought, holy shit, we’re graduating today.”

Harry drifts off to the sound of Louis telling him about how loud everyone’s cheers were when Harry crossed the stage.

*

Harry wakes to sunlight streaming in the window and rolls over, feeling around for a pillow to cover his eyes from the blinding light.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Louis says, rubbing his hands together as he strolls in the room. “Big day today.”

Harry squints at him. “Uh, no, pal. That was yesterday? Unless you forgot that whole ‘we graduated college’ thing already?” His voice is raspy from sleep, his throat dry.

Louis laughs, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled. “No, Styles, I definitely did not forget that. You’re right, yesterday was the big day. Forgot to tell you, you looked pretty good in that cap.” He reaches over to the dresser where their graduation gowns are laying in a jumbled pile and picks up the black graduation cap. “Here, sit up.”

“Why is it so bright?” Harry asks, squinting again.

“Cause it’s time to get up, we have things to do today. And when the sun gets up, so do we,” Louis chirps, adjusting the cap. Harry’s curls hang down to his chin now, and Louis takes a moment to wrangles it into submission. “There. Perfect.” Louis looks at him, a smile growing on his lips.

“What’re you smiling about?”

“Noting, nothing. Just thinking about how handsome you are. Can you pass me my phone? Want to take a photo.”

“Lou, no, I’m literally still half asleep.”

“My phone, please.” Harry groans and reaches over for the phone on the bedside table, then hands it to Louis. “Okay, say ‘I’m a graduate!’”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re worse than my mum, honestly.”

“Harold, please. Give me a real smile. Okay, just two more. Think about how happy you are that we’re moving into our own flat. Or think about that time that I slipped down the stairs and you couldn’t stop laughing.”

Harry laughs again at the thought, despite his best efforts. That was years ago and he still remembers laughing so hard he cried.

“Look, that’s perfect,” Louis says, holding out the phone to show him. The photo certainly won’t be winning any awards; he’s shirtless and his curls are askew and it’s a bit out of focus, but he gets an idea of how Louis sees him: like someone to be adored.

“Love you,” Harry says, leaning in for a kiss. Louis gives a little yelp when the corner of the cap pokes him in the forehead, so he pulls it off Harry’s head and tosses it to the end of their bed.

“Okay, enough kissing,” Louis announces, which is a statement Harry doesn’t agree with. There’s never enough kissing, in his opinion. Louis ignores Harry’s frowns and jumps to his feet. “We’ve got things to do today.”

“Things?” Harry groans, flopping across the width of the bed. “I thought we were just going to lunch with our mums.”

“Which is a very important event,” Louis says. “Need to make sure they get along.”

“I think we’re fine, Lou. No advance preparation required.”

“Come on, please get up,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s foot and shaking his leg a bit. “I want pancakes, and it’s already ten o’clock.”

Harry closes his eyes and sighs. He has to admit that pancakes do sound pretty good right now.

“Fine. But you owe me a blowjob tonight.”

Louis beams. “Done. But I want chocolate chip pancakes, not plain.”

“Right, as if I’d ever think of making you anything else.”

“Best boyfriend ever.”

*

What was supposed to be a cute breakfast date, with Louis perched on the kitchen counter and kissing Harry everytime he walks by, turns into a roommates breakfast. Niall’s already in the kitchen when they get there, and soon after Harry starts cooking Liam and Zayn emerge from one of their bedrooms (Harry’s not even sure which they sleep in most nights). Harry can’t be too bothered to care that he’s making food for five instead of two; in two weeks, it’ll never be like this again.

“Thanks for the food, Hazza,” Niall says, rubbing his stomach as he pushes his chair away from the table. “Outdid yourself again, there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Zayn says. “I need to go; we’ve gotta go see my mum. I’m sure she’s annoyed we’re not already at her hotel. Like I won’t be seeing her every day soon enough.”

Liam stands up. “Yeah, we should get going.”

“Wait, are you two doing a family thing? Like, both your families?” Louis points between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. Liam nods. “That’s like...proper domestic, real relationship stuff.”

“You and Haz are doing the same thing!” Zayn protests.

“That’s different,” Louis argues. Louis and Harry have been dating for years, while it’s only been a few weeks for Liam and Zayn. Still, there’s no timetable for how this is supposed to go, and even though it hasn’t been long, Zayn and Liam are talking about getting an apartment together in Manchester when they move home.

In a million years, Harry would never have pegged the two of them to be a couple, but they’re surprisingly, and impressively, good for each other. They balance each other out, make each other laugh, support each other; it works. After years of pining, Zayn is finally dating the person he wants to be dating, and Liam’s no longer heartbroken. Harry’s happy for them, even if seeing the two of them kiss is like seeing his brothers kiss. He _could_ do with less of that.

Maybe he finally understands how the rest of them feel about his relationship, actually.

“Harry, I can wash up if you want to go shower,” Louis offers when everyone has cleared out, Zayn whispering something to Louis that makes him smile broadly before he leaves. Harry’s about to protest when he stops and thinks about how nice a hot shower would feel. “Go on up, take your time. But don’t take too long; I need to get one and we both know our mums will skewer us if we’re late to lunch.”

Lunch, right.

“Why did we have pancakes if we’re going to lunch?” he asks, depositing his plate and half-empty coffee mug next to the sink. Who’s going to take the dishes when they move out? It still hasn’t been decided.

“For a good start to the day,” Louis says. His smile is bright where he’s backed up against the cabinets, one hand resting on the counter behind him, the other reaching for Harry. His hair is messy and his white t-shirt accentuates how his skin has tanned from days spent lazing in the sun when he should have been studying.

Harry’s been trying not to think about how tan Louis is going to get this summer. He can’t wait to see it, can’t wait to abuse the privilege that is getting to be intimately acquainted with all of Louis’ tan lines, is looking forward to tracing them with his tongue in their free time.

“True,” Harry says, drawing close until their noses are touching. “Cooking pancakes is my second favorite way to start the day.”

“What’s the first?”

“Having someone else cook them for me,” Harry answers, kissing Louis quickly before he runs up the stairs and yells back to him. “Thanks for doing the dishes!”

*

Are their families supposed to get along _this_ well?

In the restaurant bathroom, Harry thinks that it must make some kind of sense, what with them having so much in common, but it’s still a bit weird to see Anne and Jay sharing a bottle of rosé and laughing together while Robin chats to Louis about a documentary he’d seen on British soccer -- sorry, Louis, _football_ \-- stars. Gemma and Lottie are gossiping about something on the other side of the table, probably coming up with pranks to play on their brothers. They never should have let them meet; as soon as they sat down they started trading embarrassing stories for far longer than either Louis or Harry would have liked.

Even if they had kept them separate for as long as possible, though, they would have met eventually; he and Louis haven’t talked about it explicitly, but he assumes they’ll both be in the wedding.

The wedding. If there ever is one.

Harry sighs, zipping his pants and heading for the sink, and is looking for a paper towel when the door bursts open.

“Hey, there you are,” Louis says, an easy smile on his face. Harry takes step closer and he can see the worried crease between his eyes, the way his jaw looks just a bit too tense. Maybe not so easy.

“Hi. You alright? Seem stressed.”

“What?” Louis laughs, but it’s short and nervous. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a lot to deal with all of them without you. That’s it.”

“You sure?” He dries his hands with a paper towel and tosses it into the bin. Louis steps between Harry and the sink, nodding, and Harry wants to kiss the worried look off his face.

So he does, pressing Louis back against the the counter. It’s a really good kiss right from the start, the kind that feels like they could easily make it more if they weren’t in the middle of a public restroom. Not that that’s stopped them before, but there’s a difference between a blowjob in a bar bathroom with a locked door, and a restaurant where their _parents_ are right outside.

Louis curls a hand around Harry’s jaw, thumb resting against his cheek, and Harry leans into it, pulling him closer by the waist. Louis tastes like the beer he’s been drinking: Corona, his favorite, familiar and comforting. The kiss is just what Harry needs to remember that Louis has a magical way of helping Harry feel grounded no matter the circumstances. Louis tugs at a few strands of hair by his scalp and Harry groans into his mouth at how good it feels. It’s then that Louis falls back against the counter, breath coming in little hitches.

“Okay, okay,” he says, hands pressed to Harry’s chest to push him away. “That’s eno-- I’m good now, I swear.”

“Love you,” Harry gets out, trying to catch his breath.

“You too,” Louis says. “Thanks. I feel better, honestly.”

Harry grins, because no matter how long they’re together, no matter how much he _knows_ Louis wants him, there’s always going to be a part of Harry that strives to impress him, to make him happy.

“I’m gonna head back,” Harry says. “I’ll see you out there.”

He remembers to run his fingers through his hair just as he gets back to the table, trying to make himself look more presentable, but it’s too late. Gemma and Lottie give him knowing looks, Robin claps him on the back, and he can’t even meet his mum’s eyes. And that’s just from a bit of kissing in a bathroom. He feels like a child.

“We thought you’d fallen into the toilet. Guess you were just… occupied,” Gemma says, eyebrows raised as she takes a sip from her wine glass. Everyone laughs, and Harry feels his face flame

He’s rescued by the arrival of the food and shortly after by Louis, who’s grinning happily.

“You could’ve come back with me, you know,” Harry hisses.

“Nah, I like watching you sweat.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Later, their parents fight over who’s going to pay for the bill and, predictably, Harry’s win.

“No, no, you had to come all this way,” Anne says. “We’re just sorry that your husband couldn’t come. We would have loved to meet him.”

“Well, hopefully when--” Jay’s eyes flick over to Louis and Harry, who are watching the exchange with increasing interest. “When the kids aren’t in school, you know. Hopefully Dan will get to meet you soon. Thank you so much, this was really generous.”

They gather in a clump outside the restaurant, trying to decide what to do next. Harry’s parents are leaving later tonight; he can’t just let them go like this, even if he and Louis are planning to go back to New York in a few weeks to stay with them for a weekend.

“We should go do the Freedom Trail,” he announces. “I don’t want to say goodbye to all of you yet.”

Anne and Jay look uncertain.

“Harry, I don’t know if--” Gemma starts, but he cuts her off.

“Oh come on, you need to do something touristy. Mum and Robin are hardly ever here, and Jay, you haven’t been here in years, yeah? Besides, it’s not like we’ve got any plans. Our party won’t start until late tonight, we’ve got plenty of time to show you around.”

Louis chooses that moment to have a coughing fit, and Harry smacks him on the back a few times. When he stands up again, his face is red and he’s still coughing weakly.

“Alright, great. It’s decided then. It’ll be fun!” He looks at Louis, who manages a weak smile, but it doesn’t crinkle his eyes. He coughs again.

Harry links his arm in Louis’ and sets them off in what he hopes is the right direction, the others following.

*

So, it turns out that Harry didn’t actually pay that much attention in American History class, nor has four years of living in this city really prepared him for a walking tour of the place. Sixteen historical sites are linked with a red painted line that connects them through the city, and he can’t remember basic facts about a single one.

“This is the oldest house in downtown Boston,” he recites, trying to make it seem like he’s not reading it off the sign behind Lottie’s head like he’s been doing all afternoon. “Paul Revere lived here. He’s the one who announced that the British were coming, for those of you not familiar with your American history. Which is… pretty much all of you, I’d guess.”

“Excuse me,” Robin says, clearing his throat.

“Except for Robin. Sorry.”

“It’s a bit funny that they tried to kick the British out and then here we are anyway, isn’t it?” Lottie asks, and Louis makes a quip under his breath that sounds like, _try living here for the last few years_.

“Alright, I think it’s time that we head off,” Anne says before Harry can read another fact off the sign. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and Gemma has a plane to catch back to Chicago. We’ll bring you back to your flat and say goodbye there, how’s that sound?”

Harry falters. “But there’s still--”

“Next time,” she interrupts. “I think a few hours is all we can handle at one time. And now that you’re living here full time, we’ll be back to visit soon enough.”

“Okay,” he acquiesces, his shoulders deflating. It’s not really okay, but then Louis slips his fingers into Harry’s and drops his head to his shoulder, a warmth at his side. Harry exhales slowly; they’re going to have a party tonight. It’ll probably end with both of them really drunk and making each other laugh a lot.

That makes it a little better.

*

Harry begs Jay to stay after his parents leave, offers to take her and Lottie to their favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner, but they decline.

“Lottie’s got a stomachache, love,” Jay says, sounding sincerely sorry. “It’s probably just the time change, but we should go just in case.”

“I wish you would stay. It’s honestly not an obligation, we really don’t have anything better to do until the party.”

She scratches her nose, and Louis steps forward to hug his mum. “Thanks for coming to lunch,” he says, and then Harry can’t hear anything else they’re saying because Lottie’s pulling him away by the wrist.

“Okay, so I know I told you most of the embarrassing stories when you came to visit, but did I tell you about the time we painted Louis’ hair blue?”

She’s got his full attention. “You did not,” Harry says, “and I’m a little miffed you left this information out.”

“Well, we did. He was maybe ten. I’m sure Mum’s got a picture she can dig up somewhere.”

“That’d be wicked, please. I want all the embarrassing pictures you’ve got.”

Louis and Jay finish their conversation, and Jay’s eyes are teary when Harry hugs her, though he can’t figure out why. “We’ll see you again before you go,” he reminds her. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she assures him, wiping at her eyes. “Love you boys. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry unlocks the apartment door when they’re gone, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the couch. The place is silent; everyone else must still be out. “What’re we gonna do now? I wish they hadn’t gone.”

He gets no reply; Louis has disappeared into the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s uncapping a bottle of water with his teeth. “Niall unpacked all the booze,” he says, looking a bit confused.

“What d’you mean?” Harry asks, barely lifting his head. They walked _a lot_. He could use a foot massage.

“For the party. Looks like he already set everything up.”

“That was nice of him,” Harry says. “What are we gonna do until the party, then? Maybe a nap?”

“No,” Louis says, taking a seat on the couch, lifting Harry’s feet into his lap. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.” He seems a bit twitchy; he’d better not be sick. Harry frowns, putting his hand to Louis’ forehead. What if Lottie’s stomachache actually _was_ a bug, and she passed it onto Louis?

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” Louis flicks on the television, going through a few channels before settling on an old episode of _House Hunters_.

Harry frowns. “Oh _-kay_ ,” he says, confused by his weird shift in mood. But maybe he’s just tired. It has been an emotional day, after all. “Can you give me a foot rub?”

Louis sends him a smile and nods, and not for the first time today, Harry considers how lucky he is to have him. He never thought he’d find someone he loved quite so much.

*

They’re kissing on the couch a while later, the lazy kind of kissing they do when they have all the time in the world. It’s nice, _really_ nice, and Harry’s just about to suggest that they head upstairs when Louis pulls away.

“I’m starving,” he says, rubbing his stomach. “Do you want to go get food?”

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it. “ _That’s_ what you’re thinking about right now? Food?”

Louis laughs nervously. “I mean…yes?”

Harry sighs and sits up, extricating his limbs from Louis’ so that he can sit on the edge of the couch, facing him. “Yeah, if you want to.”

There’s a beat of hesitation. “I only want to go if you want to,” Louis says. “I just thought the two of us could go out for dinner.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t understand why your mum didn’t want to come, though,” Harry says, standing up and stretching. “Didn’t she want to hang out with us? It’s not like she gets to see us very often.”

“Hmm?” Louis says absently, typing furiously on his phone. Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh, right. My mum, yeah. I dunno, I guess she just wanted to hang out with Lottie.”

“Oh god, wait,” Harry says, suddenly horrified. “Am I monopolizing your time with her? Of course she wants to see you one-on-one, I don’t know why I didn’t put that together till now. You should go out with her tonight, just the two of you. Or bring Lottie if you want.”

“Harry,” Louis says, getting up from the couch. “My mum is fine. Let’s go out to dinner, me and you, and we can worry about her later.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Harold, do you want me to take you out to dinner or not?”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I do,” Harry stutters. “Dinner would be good. Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking Italian,” Louis says, looking at his phone again.

“No, we had Italian earlier. Ooh, what about the diner? We haven’t been there in ages. I’ll just need to change my shirt.”

Louis smiles brightly and slips his phone into his back pocket. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna go wash up, but will you be ready to go in a few minutes?”

Harry nods and heads upstairs to find a new shirt to wear, since there’s a few droplets of spilled pasta sauce on this one from earlier. He slips on the chambray shirt he bought last week, grabs a belt, brushes his teeth, and wrangles his hair into submission. The diner’s not fancy, but he does try to make _some_ kind of effort for Louis.

Louis is closing Zayn’s bedroom door behind him when Harry makes it back downstairs. He looks taken aback by Harry standing there. “Lou? Did you get lost?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m nearly ready, just want to get a new shirt. I thought -- thought maybe Zayn borrowed the one I was looking for,” he stammers. “But he didn’t, so… you know. I’m… just gonna go upstairs. Be right back.” Harry stands at the bottom of the stairs, wondering what the hell’s wrong with him and why his voice has gone all squeaky.

Louis is back down a few minutes later, wearing a completely new outfit: his favorite black jeans, a white graphic tee, and a jacket.

“You look…” Harry swallows, his throat dry. “ _Really_ good, Lou.”

“You sure? You don't think the denim jacket is too much?” He stops on the last step, and Harry has to tilt his face up to kiss him.

“Absolutely not,” he tells him, a hand on Louis’ chest. “Looks perfect.”

“Thanks. You do too,” he adds, swallowing hard. “You wanna get going?”

Harry nods, winding his arms around Louis’ waist to give him a quick squeeze. “Please.”

*

The diner is the same as always, the menus slightly peeling and the light still flickering over the hostess stand. It’s nice to see that some things never change.

Helen seats them at their favorite table, the one they sat at the first time they ever came here, and she doesn’t even give them menus. “An orange juice for Harry, a chocolate milk for Louis, and waffles with fruit for both of you. Is that right?”

“You’re an angel,” Harry tells her, and she winks.

Harry’s chatty through dinner, talking about the ceremony yesterday and the lunch with their parents as they eat. “Our families loved each other,” he says. “I’m so glad.”

“Me too,” Louis says, looking up from what’s left of his waffle to give Harry a teasing smile. “Not sure how they felt about your tour though.”

“Hey, it’s important to give them a bit of history,” Harry protests, spearing another bit of waffle with a fork. He expects a laugh, maybe even a smile, but Louis doesn’t make a sound. He’s been quiet for most of dinner, actually, when usually he’s full of energy, teasing Helen and making jokes and generally not shutting up.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Harry asks, setting down his fork as he narrows his eyes. Louis does look a bit twitchy, now that he’s fully focusing on him. “You don’t look so good.”

“What? Yeah, I’m good. Promise.” He smiles, big and bright, but it’s still not a _Louis_ smile, no eye-crinkling to be seen. “Hey, you excited for the party tonight? Should be a good time.”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry says, picking up his fork again. Maybe his brain is playing tricks on him. “Who do you think will start crying first? Zayn?”

“Definitely you,” Louis says with a laugh, and this time it’s real. “Absolutely no question.”

“You know, it’s not nice to make fun of me all the time. I might stand up for myself one of these days, and leave you.”

“Don’t think you hate it as much as you say you do,” Louis says, a dangerous glint in his eye, and Harry has to concede that he’s right.

When they’re done, Louis turns down all of Harry’s offers to pay for dinner. “It was my idea. Plus, your parents paid for lunch.”

Louis slips his hand into Harry’s as they walk out of the diner, calling their goodbyes to Helen and stepping outside. The mid-May air is warm, the sun setting on the horizon.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Louis asks. “Seems too nice outside to go home just yet.”

“What about the party?”

“We’ll be back in time for your party, Hazza, I promise,” Louis chuckles, tugging his hand as they start walking. Harry shrugs and follows; the set up’s already done, they just have to show up. No harm in hanging out with Louis for a little longer.

They talk about their plans for the summer as they walk, about the apartment they have to furnish before they move in two weeks from now.

“What if we just go to Ikea next week?” Harry asks, interrupting Louis in the middle of a long rant about the costs associated with moving into a new place. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, Lou.”

He swears he can see Louis fighting a pout. “But I _want_ it to be.”

“Me too, but we’ve got time. We have a bed and a couch we can take with us, and we’ll figure out the rest as we go, okay?”

Louis nods his agreement as they cross into the park. “We haven’t been here in ages, have we?”

Harry shakes his head, trying to remember the last time they came here. “Ice skating, junior year, I think.”

“And what a disaster that was.” In the dark of the night, he can still make out Louis’ wide smile, no doubt remembering the many times Harry had fallen, slipping and sliding along the ice until Louis took pity on him and took him for hot chocolate instead.

“We should go back to the Christmas tree lighting this year,” Harry comments idly as they pass a dad kicking a soccer ball around with his two young kids. “We only went that first time time. And what a time it was.”

Louis makes a noise of agreement and they keep walking. “Yeah, alright. I’d like that.”

Louis’ hand is warm in Harry’s as they keep walking. He’s hit with a flash of appreciation for Louis, for this life they’re building together, for the fact that he gets to hold his hand anytime he wants.

They’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes, talking idly about the apartment and the fact that they’re going to England in six weeks to visit Louis’ family, when Louis stops short, releasing Harry’s hand. It takes Harry a few steps to notice that he’s not walking alongside him anymore.

“What’s--”

Louis cocks his head to the bench they’re next to. “Hey, isn’t this is where we kissed for the first time?”

Harry looks at his bright smile, looks at the bench, looks back at Louis. “Yeah,” he says softly, nodding. “It is.”

“You wanna kiss me again?”

Harry feels something swell up inside of him as he takes a step closer to Louis and grips one of his hands, tangling their fingers together as he kisses him. They sink onto the bench, still kissing; he’s got one hand in Louis’ hair and one still holding his hand, and so much has happened since the first time they did this, nearly four years ago that Harry almost can’t believe it.

“Hazza,” Louis says when he pulls away. He slips his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans and slides off the bench, kneeling in front of Harry --

Down on one knee.

The air in Harry’s lungs has disappeared. “Holy shit.”

Is this actually happening? It can’t be, right? There’s no way.

Louis laughs hoarsely, taking Harry’s hand in his again. “Harry Edward Styles,” he starts. Harry’s eyes are already blurry with tears, one hand covering his mouth. “I had all these things I wanted to say, this whole speech I planned, but...mostly I just wanna say that you’re my best, _best_ friend, and I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone, and I want to love you for the rest of my life.”

Harry chokes out a sob, and wipes his cheeks. The moon is shining bright behind him, glinting off the little ring in the box in Louis’ hand.

“Will you marry me?”

Harry nods, his heart splintering into a thousand pieces and immediately sewn back together as Louis slips the ring onto his finger. The metal is cool against his skin, and the moonlight is bright but not quite strong enough for him to make out all the details. He loves it anyway. He’s pictured this moment a hundred times -- no, a _thousand_ \-- and yet he never imagined this is how he would feel, already ten times more in love with Louis than he was just minutes ago.

He pulls Louis onto the bench and kisses him, kisses him long and slow and deep, kisses him like there’s no one but the two of them on the whole earth. The world falls away for a while, Harry’s thoughts reduced to _Louis, Louis, Louis_ , his warm familiar lips pressed against his.

“You know,” Louis says, pulling away after it feels like hours have gone by. “You didn’t actually answer my question.”

“Of course I will,” Harry chokes out a laugh, tears staining his cheeks. “God, yes, of course. I thought you were _never_ going to ask.”

“Had to keep you on your toes, Hazza,” Louis says with his own watery laugh, kissing him quickly again.

“That’s _fiancé_ to you,” Harry shoots back, and then his heart feels stuck in his throat because of the words he just said.

The beaming smile that spreads over Louis’ face suggests that the same thing just occurred to him. “Say it again.”

“You’re my fiancé,” Harry says quietly, and Louis repeats it back to him, voice a little louder.

“You’re my fiancé!” they yell in unison, giddy and in love and not caring who can hear. They’re _engaged_ , they’re going to get married, Harry’s going to call Louis his husband.

“I love you so much,” he says, cupping Louis’ face in his hands. “I love you so, so much.”

“Love you too, baby,” Louis says softly. “Christ, I can’t believe you said yes.”

Harry laughs. “I hope you’re kidding.”

“I mean…there’s always that tiny fear,” Louis admits, grasping Harry’s hands in his own. “What if you’d changed your mind? But I hoped that you were a sure thing.”

Harry swallows over the lump in his throat. “I was always a sure thing. Whether you’d asked six months ago or in a year, I was always going to say yes.”

Louis lifts his arms to hug Harry tightly, burning his face in his shoulder. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, the words muffled in Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s eyes fill with tears, and he has to squeeze them shut to stop from crying again. He’s _engaged_ , Louis has asked him to _marry him_. He still can’t quite believe it, despite the cool metal of the ring on his finger. “Is this real?”

“It’s real, baby,” Louis says, pulling away so that he can look Harry in the eyes.

“I can’t believe you asked me,” he says quietly, and Louis pulls away, his fingers gently wiping tears from Harry’s cheeks. “I didn’t think it was going to be any time soon.”

Louis smiles, and Harry swears that he can see the entire universe reflected inside them. “Yeah, I’m sorry I made you worry about it so much. If I’d known it was eating you alive, I would’ve…well, I dunno. Not sure I would have asked any earlier, but I could’ve tried to reassure you somehow.”

“How did you know I was stressed about it?” Harry blurts out

“Zayn told me,” Louis confesses, his fingers tracing over the ring, a small smile spreading across his face. “He said that Liam said you were going crazy and that I’d better propose before you actually went mental.”

“Zayn knew about this?”

“Only because I was going out of my mind not having anyone to talk about it. I mean, your mum and Gem were great, but--”

“My _mum_ knows about this?” Harry interrupts, eyes wide. “Does yours?”

Louis kisses him and shakes his head, like he can’t believe Harry’s surprise. “Are you serious? You think I would ever propose to you without asking your mum first? And your sister?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, just shakes his head and presses his forehead against Louis’. “You’re so good. _So_ good.”

“They helped me pick out the ring. Do you know how many times I thought you were going to walk in on us talking about rings and proposal ideas?” Louis laughs, remembered uncertainty written on his face. “Gemma was very particular about what you liked; she wanted to fly out here for a weekend but I wouldn’t let her, but I said that Zayn and I could handle it.”

Harry has so many questions, but he settles for holding out his hand and staring at the ring properly for the first time. It’s a skinny silver band with ridges, shapes that look like chevrons. “It’s beautiful, Louis. Really, really lovely. Thank you.”

“Did you really just thank me for proposing to you?”

“Yes,” Harry says, taking Louis’ face in his hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

*

Harry asks questions the entire way home, wondering when Louis bought the ring (a few weeks ago), where he kept it (hidden in Zayn’s room) and how he kept this kind of surprise for so long (no clue).

“Zayn was hiding it in his desk, but after he came home to find me napping on his bed with the box clutched in my hand, he told me that I couldn’t keep sneaking into his room to look at it anymore.”

Louis looks sheepish as he says it, and Harry tugs him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss him.

The walk back to their apartment takes three times as long as usual because they keep derailing themselves, but it’s for a very good cause. There’s a kiss when they pass by their freshman dorm and there’s a kiss when they’re stopped at a red light and there’s a full ten minutes of lazy, unhurried kissing sitting on the edge of the fountain in the center of campus.

“Can’t wait to show you how much I love you,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ shoulder, pushing his shirt down so he can scrape his teeth over his collarbone and then soothe the mark with his tongue. “Take me home, want you t’ fuck me.”

“What about -- _Harry_ \-- what about the party?” Louis mumbles. Harry wiggles his bum in Louis’ lap, and Louis groans at the movement. “Alright, fiancé. Let’s go.”

It still takes another five minutes for them to get up after that.

*

The party is in full swing when they burst into the apartment, Harry’s hands slipping up Louis’ shirt, both of them beaming and silly with happiness. Loud conversation and even louder music fill the room, but that all comes to a halt when Louis grabs Harry’s arm, raising it in the air and yelling. “We’re engaged!”

There’s a stunned silence, but Niall is the first to break it. “You fuckers!” he yelps, barreling forward to hug both of them. “Can’t believe it. So happy for th’ two ‘f you.”

“Thanks, Nialler,” Louis says, a delighted smile threatening to split his face in two. Niall’s kissing his cheeks like an overexcited puppy, the beer in his hand dangerously close to being knocked to the ground. It’s not his first beer, by the looks of it, nor his second.

“We need to get you two some drinks,” he insists. “Stay right there. I’ll get you ev’rythin’ you need. Only the best for my two best friends. My best friends are getting married!” he shouts as he darts through the crowd to get to the kitchen.

Turns out moving from that spot isn’t much of an option anyway, as Harry and Louis are quickly swarmed by everyone in attendance.

“Were you surprised?” Zayn asks, grabbing Harry’s hand to look at the ring.

“I was. Still can’t believe it.”

“Niall doesn’t seem so surprised though,” Louis comments as he wriggles his way out of Liam’s congratulatory headlock.

“Yeah, he, uh…” Zayn scratches the side of his face, looking a bit concerned. “He may have gotten me to confess about the ring,” he admits.

“You _what_?” Louis screeches.

“Your mum called and she wanted to know what time you were planning to propose. And I had her on speaker phone and Niall overheard--”

“You know what?” Louis asks, grabbing the beer Niall offers him. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. We’re engaged, it happened, Hazza said yes.”

“Zayn, I’m _engaged_!” Harry shouts. He wonders how long it’ll take to really sink in. Hopefully a long, long time.

After the boys finally let them go, they’re swept into crowd of hugs and sloppy kisses on cheeks and a thousand questions about how it all went down. Harry feels giddy, needs to reach out and clutch at the back of Louis’ jacket to ground him on Earth through it all. They’re getting married. Louis is going to be his _husband_.

*

Harry’s in the middle of a hug from a drunken Liam when Louis walks into the kitchen. Harry spots him first, which means he gets to watch the glorious way his face softens and lights up like the sun when his eyes fall on Harry. They haven’t seen each other in an hour - an hour too long - and Harry’s missed him.

“Li, thanks so much,” Harry murmurs to Liam, setting his new drink on the counter and trying to peel Liam’s arm off his shoulder. Liam just clings harder.

“Oi, watch it,” Louis says, his voice loud in the small room. “That’s my fiancé, he’s a promised man now.” The blinding smile on his face when he says the words makes Harry’s heart twist.

“‘M so happy for you two,” Liam slurs, pulling Louis into their weird hug. “So happy.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Louis says, his tone indulgent. “I think Zayn’s looking for you in the living room.”

Harry giggles when Liam perks up like a puppy at the sound of his boyfriend’s name. Louis pats him on the back and pushes him backward, forcing him toward the living room.

“Love you lads!” Liam says, waving as he scuttles out of the room, bumping into the doorway as he goes.

“Hi,” Louis says, taking a step so that his toes bump Harry’s. They’re the only two in the kitchen, but as far as Harry’s concerned, they’re the only two in the world.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says quietly, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and searching his face. Louis winds his arms around Harry’s neck in return, his smile like sunlight reflecting off a diamond.

“I missed you,” Louis confesses, and then he giggles. His cheeks are flushed bright red from alcohol and happiness and he looks as giddy as Harry feels.

“Me too.” He brings his face down to kiss Louis. The music is pounding in the living room and the alcohol is thrumming through his veins and he’s got his fiancé in his arms. “Fiancé.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re my fiancé.”

Louis beams. “So you haven’t changed your mind?”

Harry scoffs. “As if. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a long time, pal.”

“Good.” Louis kisses him again, deeper this time, and Harry sinks into it, lets time fall away around them. It could be minutes or hours later when they break away, all Harry knows is that he’s still clinging onto Louis like he’s the only thing that matters.

“You wanna go upstairs?” Louis asks quietly, rolling his hips up against Harry’s.

“And skip out of our own engagement party?” Harry asks, mock shock coloring his tone. He wants nothing more than to do just that. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Louis grabs his hand and together they run out of the kitchen, past the party in the living room, and up the stairs, giggling the whole way. Louis slams their bedroom door and pushes Harry up against it, unbuttoning his shirt with quick, practiced fingers. Harry lets him do it, stands there with one of Louis’ legs slotted in between his, rocking against him as Louis slides the shirt off his shoulders and tosses it to the ground.

Harry makes quick work of Louis’ pants, fingers fumbling from alcohol and lust. Louis wraps two fingers around his wrist and Harry immediately stills, slumps against the door as Louis kisses him until he feels dizzy and dazed.

“Bed,” Louis mumbles, shucking off his jeans and yanking off Harry’s belt. “Bed, bed, now.”

“Okay,” Harry mutters, pushing his pants to the floor and stepping out of them.

They tumble onto the bed, and the room is dark but they’ve done this so many times, a dance they’ve practiced and tweaked and perfected over the years. One that they’ll continue to perfect until they’re old and gray.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry asks, squirming as Louis sucks a bruise into his collarbone. “You’re gonna be my husband.”

Louis stills and raises his head to look at Harry. He looks impossibly young like this, more like the twenty-year-old boy Harry first met that day in the dorm kitchen than the twenty-four-year-old man Harry’s just promised his life to. “Gonna love you forever,” he swears, moving up to cover Harry with his body and kiss him. “Always.”

“Always, always, always,” Harry echoes, hips rolling up as Louis grinds against him.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Louis says, his face eager, “take off your ring. There’s something inside.”

Harry doesn’t want to take it off, not when he’s _just_ gotten it, but Louis’ smile is too bright for him to think about doing anything else. He slides it off carefully, and even in the limited light, he can see an engraving that he can’t quite make out in the dark.

Harry holds it up to the moonlight streaming in from a gap in the curtains, and at the exact moment when Harry can make the words, Louis squeezes his hand.

_Always in my heart._


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_**six months later** _

“Honey, I’m home!”

Harry shuts the door behind him with a soft click, flipping the bolt to lock it. He sets down his bag and coat in the entryway and can hear Louis’ chuckles from the kitchen, so he sets off in that direction. It’s not a far walk; their new apartment isn’t very big.

“You know, you don’t have to say that every time,” Louis says with a smile, meeting him in the hallway and wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“I know, but I like to,” Harry says, flashing Louis a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby. How was your day?” Louis asks, leaning up for a kiss.

“It was good, how was yours?”

“Oh, it was fine,” Louis says, turning back toward the kitchen. “Busy, but I guess that’s Mondays. We started looking at the early decision candidates today, had to make some tough decisions.” He sighs, sounding tired but content. “Only a half day tomorrow though. I can’t wait for a few days off.”

Harry pulls him in for another quick kiss before crossing the kitchen to open the fridge, listening to Louis as he continues.

“Oh, Martin mentioned wanting to go away for a skiing weekend in January once all the admissions madness slows down. His girlfriend has a ski house in Vermont and they’re going to get some of their friends together. We’re invited, if you want to go.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, turning from the fridge to look at Louis, who’s hoisted himself up onto the counter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, could be fun. You liked him when we all went out for drinks, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry says, picking up a can of seltzer water and shutting the fridge door. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. By the way, I stopped by the coffee shop earlier.”

Harry sets the can down on the kitchen counter, brow furrowed. “You did? I didn’t see you. What time?”

“Quarter past five or so, I think. On the way home from work.”

“How did I miss you?” It’d been a busy day afternoon, but not so busy that he would have missed Louis.

“Oh, I walked in and saw all those girls staring at you so I went home,” Louis teases. “I figured it was time to let someone else flirt with you for a change.”

Harry’s eyebrows lift even higher. “ _Flirt_ with me?”

“Oh Harold, don’t pretend you don’t see them chatting you up, giving you their best flirty eyes.”

“Flirty eyes, really?” Harry laughs and comes to stand between Louis’ open legs, settling his hands on his knees.

“I don’t know, they were just staring at you a lot!” Louis sputters. “Anyway, I can’t really blame them. You _know_ how that hat makes you look.”

“I don’t,” Harry says, running his hands up and down Louis’ thighs. “Care to enlighten me?”

Louis’ mouth twitches with a smile. “Let’s just say you look _unfairly_ good in a backwards snapback.”

Harry laughs. “I do?”

He’s expecting it when Louis smacks him on the shoulder. “You know your sporty look gets me hot.”

Harry smiles and kisses him again. “Yeah, well, your _everything_ gets me hot.”

*

They eat dinner that night at the kitchen table, bare feet tangled together as they talk about Thanksgiving, which is only three days away.

“Zayn and Liam fly in on Wednesday afternoon, right?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. “We’ll need to go to IKEA tomorrow to get that furniture we put off getting for the guest room.” Louis nods again, a little less enthusiastic.

“Hopefully the cinnamon rolls will be there this time.”

Just after graduation, they’d visited IKEA on a giant pre-moving shopping trip. It was hot and they had so many things to buy, enough furniture to furnish their entire apartment, so many decisions to make about mattress and couches and bedspreads, that they’d had to actively work at not arguing with each other. The promise of warm, gooey cinnamon rolls waiting for them at the end was the only thing that kept them going. That, and the still-new ring on Harry’s finger reminding them that they loved each other, no matter how much they argued on curtains and cutlery and couch cushions.

They had both breathed sighs of relief when they reached the end, grumpy and with empty wallets but looking forward to the cinnamon rolls. They’d narrowly avoided a number of fights, and they deserved all the awards just for that alone.

Only to find out that there were no more cinnamon rolls.

“If they’re not,” Harry vows, “we’ll never go back again.”

“Promise?” Louis asks, pushing his chair back to stand up. He scoops up their empty plates and loads them into the dishwasher.

“Promise.” Harry leans back in his seat, stretching. “Good meal tonight, Lou.”

Louis’ cooking has grown in leaps and bounds since they moved in together. Lessons from Harry and his mum and from Louis’ own mum when they went to England over the summer have given him a solid repertoire of meals. It’s helpful on nights when Harry works late at the coffee shop, because usually when he gets home after that he doesn’t want to go anywhere near the stove.

“Thanks.” Louis blows him a kiss over his shoulder. “Where are you working tomorrow?”

Since Harry’s job as a substitute teacher doesn’t have work for him every single day, he works at a coffee shop nearby for some extra money. Louis can never keep track of his ever-changing schedule.

“I’m at the coffee shop again. Early shift so we can go shopping in the afternoon.”

“So you’ll get up with me?”

“Don’t I always?”

“This morning you rolled over and complained that if I didn’t shut up and stop trying to get you to wake up, you would, and I quote, ‘never suck my dick again.’”

Harry flushes. “Well, I was tired, I can’t take responsibility for what I was saying. Maybe I should write it down for you, then you’ll remember and can stop waking me up all the time when you don’t need to.”

Harry has Louis’ travel schedule marked neatly in his calendar, a clear record of all the times he’s been away this fall on admissions visits, leaving Harry home alone. Neither of them are working perfect jobs, but they’re getting a bit closer to the lives they want to live, which is all that really matters.

Louis just rolls his eyes. “Okay, baby, whatever you say.”

*

“What’s wrong with this one? It’s affordable.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“At this point,” Harry says, heaving a sigh and pulling his hair into a bun to get it out of his face, “I don’t care if they end up sleeping on an air mattress in the living room. I just want to get out of this stupid store and never come back.”

“I’m not going to let our _best friends_ sleep on an air mattress.”

“They’re young, they’ll survive.”

“And what about when my mum comes to visit? Or yours? I suppose you’ll just have them sleep there too?” Louis is standing on the other side of the bed in question, his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. “This bed is _ugly_. I said it this summer and I’m saying it now. I know we can’t afford much but that doesn’t mean we need to get something that looks like _this_.”

“Fine, whatever,” Harry mutters. “Just pick a stupid guest bed so we can go home.”

“Harry,” Louis says, a warning in his tone.

“Don’t ‘ _Harry_ ’ me. I’m tired, and I just need to be...somewhere else for a bit,” he says, turning on his heel and leaving the fake bedroom set. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“Haz, wait,” Louis calls behind him, but it’s no good, because Harry’s already storming off.

*

A half hour later, Harry’s in the kids’ section, perched on a daybed for toddlers and scrolling through his phone, when he spots Louis. Harry sees his faded black Vans first, the scruffiness in the toes immediately recognizable. When Harry looks up, Louis’ face is hard to read. That’s not a problem Harry has often.

“Hi,” Harry says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“What the _fuck_ , Harry?” Louis asks, exasperation seeping through. “What was that?”

Harry wants to make a joke about how he shouldn’t swear in the kids’ section, but figures it’s not the time. “I’m sorry, Lou. I was an idiot.”

“You can say that again.”

“I was an idiot,” Harry repeats seriously, reaching out to take Louis’ hand in his. He dangles their arms between them. “I’m sorry I got mad and left you to pick out all the stuff by yourself.”

“I just...why?” Louis sputters. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I don’t know,” Harry confesses. Louis steps onto the platform and takes a seat next to him, their hands still clasped. “I feel like everything needs to be perfect, and it’s not gonna be. We can’t even afford to get nice furniture for our friends because we have no money.”

“We’ve been sleeping on a bed from IKEA for more than two years now. It’s not fancy, but it works, right?”

“Yeah, but our guests deserve something better. We should be able to get something nicer.”

“H, it’s Liam and Zayn. We lived with them for two years, I think they know what we’re like.”

“I know, but--”

“It doesn’t need to be perfect,” Louis insists gently. “Do I wish we had more money? Of course. But I _like_ that our lives aren’t perfect. I like that we still have something to work toward, and that we get to wake up in the morning in our terrible IKEA bed and eat breakfast in our tiny kitchen, because it reminds me that someday we’re gonna have something so much better.”

Harry sighs and looks down at their joined hands, Louis’ thumb rubbing over the back of Harry’s. “Living with you is my favorite thing I’ve ever done,” he says quietly. “Sometimes I’m finishing a shift at the coffee shop and I hang up my apron and I just think, _I get to go home to Louis_. And that makes me _so_ happy. I just wish we could have more sometimes. I’m sorry I got mad.”

“It’s not perfect yet, but it’s gonna be one day, right? And then probably right when we get the lives we want, we’ll decide we want a whole bunch of kids and that’ll throw everything out of whack again. But that’s the fun of it.” Louis smiles, like he’s thinking of sometime in the future, maybe when the two of them are here to buy beds for their kids.

“Alright,” Harry concedes. “D’you wanna go pick out the furniture now? I promise not to get mad again.”

“Already taken care of,” Louis says, standing up and pulling on Harry’s hand. “We just need to go check out, and then we can go get cinnamon rolls.”

“My hero,” Harry says, reaching up for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t forget it, okay?”

“I won’t,” Harry promises.

*

Louis slumps to the ground, his wrench making a clanging noise as it hits the floor. “I give up.”

“Lou, we’re _so_ close to being done. Just a little bit more and then we can do whatever you want.”

“What I _want_ is an orgasm and some pizza and some sleep, and not necessarily in that order,” Louis retorts. “I’m done putting together furniture. We did the bed already, the rest they can do without.”

Harry’s hands still on the corner of the sheet he’s trying to force onto the bed. “D’you wanna trade?” He doesn’t _really_ want to put together a set of bedside tables, but if it stops Louis from having a meltdown, he’ll do it.

Louis drops his face into his hands. “Why didn’t we cancel their trip and tell them to come some other time, and then we could have used Thanksgiving break for a sex vacation?”

Harry bursts into laughter. “A sex vacation? What does that mean?”

“Me ‘n’ you stay here and don’t answer our phones have a lot of sex,” Louis explains. “Duh.”

Harry laughs and holds out the sheet to Louis. “Here, just finish making the bed. I’ll go order a pizza.”

He’s excited for Liam and Zayn to visit -- he really is -- but what seemed like great timing when they booked the tickets weeks ago has now devolved into a terrible mess. Unexpected work travel has given Harry less time with Louis than he thought they’d get, and as laughable as Louis’ idea of a “sex vacation” is, he’d love to lock their doors and just curl up with him for a few days. It doesn’t help that this is the first Thanksgiving he won’t be with his family, since she and Robin are on a cruise and Gemma’s staying in Chicago. They’re still doing Thanksgiving, but it’s going to be a Friendsgiving with Liam, Zayn and Niall instead and it just won’t be the same.

“Lou,” Harry says as he reenters the guest room, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “we’ve gotta stop ordering pizza from that place. They know our order by heart.”

Louis is lying starfished in the middle of the bed. “But they have the best crusts,” Louis mumbles in feeble protest. Harry reaches out and grabs one bare ankle, shaking his leg.

“You can’t take a nap on their bed, get up.”

“But I don’t _want_ to,” Louis grumbles. “Harry, I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Harry says, leaning over the bed and brushing Louis’ hair away from his face. “At least you’re on vacation. We can go to bed early tonight, and then wake up as late as you want tomorrow.”

“But Liam and Zayn are landing in the afternoon,” he whines.

“Well, you need to get up before they get here. But you can sleep as much as you want, I won’t even make you do any of the cleaning.”

“Really?” Louis sits up, his eyes wide at the promise.

“Really. But you gotta get up now and help me finish these bedside tables.”

Louis swings his feet over the side of the bed and Harry tugs him to a standing position. “I still want an orgasm,” Louis whispers in his ear. “It’s been far too long since I’ve gotten to properly fuck you.” And then he scurries to the half assembled bedside table and begins working, leaving Harry staring at him in shock.

*

Later that night, Louis pulls a naked Harry closer as they curl up under soft sheets. “I love you,” he mumbles, voice sleepy and sounding like the safest thing Harry’s ever known. “Love you always, can’t wait till you’re my husband.”

Louis reaches out a hand to trace the engagement ring on Harry’s finger. Harry hasn’t gone a day without it since Louis slipped it onto him, a reminder nearly as permanent as their two sets of matching tattoos. Sometimes he still can’t believe that Louis is his, that Louis has chosen him and Harry’s chosen him back. It’s unbelievable sometimes, to think about the fact that they’re going to be together forever. He hopes he never, ever gets used to the way it makes him feel giddy.

“Husband,” Harry repeats, eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion. “I can’t wait.”

*

“So give us the gossip!” Niall insists, handing out beers to everyone and passing around a bottle opener he found in one of Louis and Harry’s kitchen drawers. “What’s new in England, how’s life, what have you been doing while you’re missing us desperately?”

Zayn shifts on the couch, and Liam slings an arm around his shoulder. “It’s good, lads, I dunno what to tell you,” Zayn shrugs.

“We talk every week, you know everything already,” Liam adds.

“I know, but it’s not the same seeing you on a laptop screen instead of here in our living room,” Niall says.

“Excuse me, _our_ living room?” Louis asks, reaching over to poke Niall in the chest. “Last I checked, _you_ don’t pay rent, just Hazza and I do. _You_ just show up every week for food and booze and to get your parents out of your hair. But by all means, feel free to start contributing.”

Harry laughs and shifts closer to Louis so that he’s tucked into his chest, both of them squeezed into the rickety armchair. It’s good to have all his boys back together again, petty arguments notwithstanding.

“I’ve been working at the bar a lot,” Liam says, laughing at the way Niall’s trying to push Louis away. Harry’s halfway on his lap, so Niall won’t be able to do much damage. “They’ve been talking about asking me to take over their social media, so I’d send out some tweets, post things on their Facebook, you know? And we found a flat in Manchester, but you knew that already. So I feel like things are good, wouldn’t you say, Zayn?”

“Things are good,” Zayn confirms. “Been doing a lot of wedding videography, which I didn’t expect to like. But I’ve made loads of money doing it, all you need to do is meet with brides, video their day, and stay out of their way, mostly.”

“Speaking of weddings,” Liam says, “I hear that you picked a venue?”

“We did,” Harry says happily. “We were thinking we’d take you to see it on Saturday before we go to the food tasting.”

“Yes please,” Liam says with an enthusiastic nod that Zayn echoes.

Harry can’t wait to show them the place where he and Louis will be getting married next August. It’s right on the water, with a gorgeous ballroom, nestled inside a gorgeous hotel with a honeymoon suite that he’s already planning to put to good use.

“It’s going to be the wedding of the century,” Niall vows. “Plus Harry already told me that I can be his best man, so I’ve been planning my speech for a few weeks.”

“That is not true!” Harry sputters.

“It is! When you came to visit me at the museum last month, you promised that I could be the best man.”

Harry _had_ visited him at the museum last month, but the words “best man” hadn’t left his mouth even once. Harry’s mum and stepdad had stopped for a visit, and Harry had thought it’d be nice to take them to the American history museum where Niall works as a historian. Instead, Niall had given them a private tour, which was severely lacking in history but full of embarrassing stories about Harry and Louis. Harry’d bribed Niall into silence with the promise of a part in the wedding party, but that was the extent of their negotiations.

He and Louis haven’t even decided on the complete wedding party yet. They’ve got months and months to go; of course Niall, Zayn and Liam will all be in it, but so will their sisters and a few other friends. There are a lot of decisions to be made still.

The most important thing, Harry remembers as he watches his three best friends bicker over who’s going to give the speech at the wedding, is that he’s going to end up married to the love of his life, his very best friend, the sleepy boy he met in that dorm kitchen all those years ago.

And when Louis kisses him, eyes bright and shining with unspoken promises, he knows that’s the only thing he cares about.

Because Louis is his forever.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this labor of love. i hope you'll leave a comment and let me know what you thought. if i tell you i published this on my birthday, does that convince you to comment? ;)
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com) and reblog the [fic post](http://www.afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/post/158000093081/we-are-only-just-beginning-by-afirethatcannotdie)!


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